What a Zen song sound like

So,

I used some AI models to translate and adapt a Chinese song I really like into English. The original song is called 大梦 (big dream) by 瓦依那 (Vaina), and accidentally (or maybe intentionally), it conveys the core concept of Zen. After the translation and adaption, It turns out to be called Chasing Frogs. Here it is:

Lyrics:

I’m six years old, chasing frogs by the creek; One careless slip, mud’s cold on my cheek.  What do I do? What do I do?

My new Batman shirt stained, toy boat floats away— Dad's belt waiting, Mom's worried all day. Standing in the spring breeze, sobbing loud and afraid— What do I do? What do I do?

Twelve years old, lunch money’s gone, Bullies laugh, Jordans wrong. What do I do? What do I do?

Flu fever shakes me, Dad's eyes on the TV, What do I do? What do I do?

Eighteen now, Uncle Sam calls my name; Greyhound fumes choke, jungle in flames.  What do I do? What do I do?

Mud, monsoon, brothers fall and cry, I write to Mom—I don’t want to die. Under blood-red skies, whispers fill my head— What do I do? What do I do?

Thirty-five, three jobs but still can't breathe; Daughter asks why I'm never home when she needs.  What do I do? What do I do?

Bills pile high, insulin and rent— Overtime grinding, every cent spent. A cog in a machine spinning nonstop— What do I do? What do I do?

Fifty-five, factory doors locked tight; Lifetime of labor gone overnight. What do I do? What do I do?

Son’s marriage broken, grandson in tow, Mistakes repeating, heartbreaks I know. Watching the patterns, feeling the ache— What do I do? What do I do?

Seventy-eight, Medicare denied; Copay steep, my dignity slides.  What do I do? What do I do?

Hospital bed cold, voice calm but scared, I lie to my wife, "It’s nothing," unprepared. Heart monitors humming truths I won’t share— What do I do? What do I do?

Eighty-eight, walking slow, bones feeling thin; A child weeps nearby, bike chain broke again. Sun warm in springtime, pain fades away;
Life just a dream, fleeting and true— What would you do? what would you do?

If life’s a dream like a quiet stream, Should we laugh or beg, wake me please?

Golden wheat sways, endless sky blue, Daisies reclaim parking lots anew.

Holding tight or letting go, Tell me, friend—what would you do? what would you do?

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Hope you enjoy it.

-Luke