They are the same they are the same kind
A face overflowing with years, time aging quickly
Above my head is the soft mockery of the endless night
Four seasons fly by in the pupils
and can no longer hold the proud hand
A touch of warmth crossed my cheek
what is that
It's the passing years, it's the evaporating time
It's the warm sunshine that can never be found again
They are all dead, along with their memories
buried