When did it start?
In this short life,
The sky is too high,
falling water drops,
It is forever blue,
flowing slowly,
Time becomes a shadow,
Memories gradually (fall) from the treetops,
Put on the wings of separation and fly.
The memory that passed through the seam of the hand that blocked the future can no longer be recalled. I am left dragging my abandoned body to wander in confusion, and behind the wandering end point, what is left is a broken track. "Those who are afraid of the arrival of dawn and hide in the shadows, there is nothing here that you hope for." Came such a voice.
Intention: Living is meaning
