A melancholy man who always wears black clothes
Holding a little black cat in my arms
In a noisy and impetuous bar
Looking coldly at the joys and sorrows of the world
Whether it's a human being, a god, a demon, or a ghost.
Everyone keeps a respectful distance from him
I only have reflexes that are always slower than others' three shots.
Stirring in carelessly
But I can't get out anymore, I can't escape
That destined pull
Is it love or hate
And who
He is my true lover