I heard that there is a kind of thorn bird. It will fly non-stop until it finds the thorn tree, and then stabs itself hard on the sharpest thorn on the branch. When it finally stops to rest, the blood slowly drips down, and at this time the thorn bird starts the most beautiful song. It travels all the way through thousands of rivers and mountains, just to find the sharpest thorn that can pierce itself, and then sings hard for death. I began to be sad, sad for this eternal death.
Intention: