Standing in a dangerous building, the breeze is gentle. Looking forward to the extremely sad spring, the sky is gloomy.
In the lingering light of the grass-colored smoke, there is no word as to who would lean on the fence.
I plan to get drunk on the madness. Singing to wine, strong music is still tasteless.
The belt becomes wider and wider, but I don't regret it anymore. I feel haggard because of the beauty.