When there is no longer the frequent and numb sound of gunfire in the gray sky
Broken flags and solidified blood sank into the earth
Have those dead but young souls returned to the embrace of the Brandenburg Gate?
This is my old faith that I give you, the smoke that even crows will not fly over.
And glory stained with dust
And that insignificant thing, as valuable as victory
They all fell into mud with collapse-like failure.
All mistakes, resentments, forgetfulness
So that it was finally too late to save our own history
Their names are like the first falling snow that night, only for a moment
disappeared completely
I only survive because of everything that must disappear
There is also the late snowy night that will surely melt.
[Note: This article quotes a large number of historical figures that have been personally modified. It is not recommended to take it seriously. Please understand.