The legend of the magpie flower engraved on the broken wall of the ancient tomb:
Burning incense dyes the pale catkins in the hair; playing the piano erodes the broken snow strings on the glass. Only the melody of resentment can regain the abandonment, tolerance, cowardice, and stubborn love that have been lost in front of us, and pour it out together with the eternal sound, creating an ancient sad song of separation.
Is it the entanglement of fate left over from my previous life that has destined me to never leave you in this life? But in the vast world, where do you live? Only my eyes were blurred with tears, and my fragile heart set off alone, baptizing in the bushes and mire. Even if you passed me by, you never stopped to look back. So, I knelt down and worshiped on the road to heaven, wanting to pray to God: Incarnate as a thorn bird and wander around the world all my life, looking for your dying breath in the chaos. The last sorrowful whine has exhausted all my courage, and only the sharp thorns at the top can still bury the bloody wounds in my chest. From then on, I will flow my despair into the sky and turn it into a flower bud. With its lingering bloom, I will scatter all the blue in your eyes, just to exchange for the fleeting flying rainbow at the corner of your mouth...