She hides in the depths of dreams and seasons and remains indifferent
Listen to the flowers and the night sing all the nightmares, sing all the prosperity, sing all the memories.
I forgot which year, month and day a picture was carved on that incomplete wall.
The face is a sad face staring at her
Who is playing that sad melody wantonly, gradually forgetting the color in the cadence?
The door at the end opens and closes. Time stops. I hear the gears click, click, click.
Memory lives at the end of the road, and her growth rings linger at the other end of the road
Time has buried the poetry of the tree, but the sentimental shame continues to grow.
Who is the passer-by in someone's life, who is the wheel of life, the dust of the past life, the world of this life
Wind, endless sad spirit. In the end, no one belongs to anyone.
What kind of ending will fate give her this time?
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