When we meet each other without being drunk, drinking hurts us like wandering away.
It turns out that the slightly damp clothes are white, and the youth is remembered by several people.
I smiled back then, still in my youth.
The wasted morning and the fleeting time are deceiving, and the years are sparse on the road.
Can we trust each other only if we are dead?
Holding hands tightly, we will be together even if we die;
Just a moment ago, our swords met;
Could it be that the blood and shadow were our last contact?