Flowers Fall Without Abyss

The body that has died will reappear in this world every five hundred years, and the same goes for the soul. If the memory can be sealed deep in the soul and will not be erased with reincarnation, that is eternal life. The machine rumbles, Spraying bloody mist into the sky. The flowers I looked forward to blooming now have to be knocked down by my own hands; The animals that rely on themselves eat themselves up; The twigs are lost in the turbulent flow of time; Butterflies rise; birds fall; All things will recover.