The flowing lights are gone, and the mourning songs are peaceful. The fragrance of lotus flowers spreads ten miles away, singing softly. If the ice string is broken, no one will be sad. The moon dances on the cloud sleeves, and the tears gradually cool down. I can never go back to the past, those past. We grew up slowly. Back then, under the cherry blossoms, I had a cup of flower brew. The dim starlight.
The wings were broken, the white wings were stained with blood, and they could no longer fly. We thought justice could conquer all, but we were wrong. Can I go back to the past and look back at that inch of loneliness? Even so, am I a fallen angel or a good devil?