Maybe I regret a little bit, joining such a journey, such a mission, such a journey. The hero has lived for thousands of years, but neither his body nor his body has returned. What remains is a colorful legend that has been passed down by storytellers.
The bright light of the black night, the stars illuminate the tidal waves, who sings a song of sorrow in the dream, the hot wine flows through the throat, the graves left behind are naked, the grass is far away, the storyteller folds the paper fan.