We can never escape, we can never get rid of the imprisonment of vulgarity, we can only tear and roar when we die.
The ancient town seems to have been forgotten by the flow of time. How should we, small people, face ourselves and how we should not separate our bodies and heads when looking up into the distance.
Sorry for the poor writing. If you can give me some suggestions, thank you!
Intention: When we are destined to be useless, how should we struggle?