The clear feelings of this nightThe overflowing expectationsThe fantasy that is over everythingIf drawing along the edge of the moon
Tranquil and faraway hills are here already for tens of thousands of yearsGradually sinking on the time curveSeven beats of the years that are heading toward deathThe chaotic sceneScreaming for the ordinary things
A god who regretted being bornEven if being trampled will still become immediate quiet
The shining meTowards the empty skyUsing boring wordsannoyingly keep firing at itSpeak out the song of shiningwho I really am?At the end of constant explorationTaking the poison and falling asleep since then
Mountain road that I missed in the pastare now full of oak treesThe delusions of intimacythat ends by tying around the neckGod who ate pomegranateSins of whom are also implicated and accumulated on the plateJust keep using tactics of playing the victim to gain the trust of the enemy
Wood head that gets cooked by lightningAny kind of kindness is very fewPiercing bows and arrows go hand in handFor the forced conundrumEven though obviously still knowing nothing
The shining meRoaming between cloud streetsFor the boring tearsto find a place to send toMusic that has finally arrivedBringing suffering to the universemoving beyondThe sweet revel is goneleaves and becoming melancholyLovesickness gradually decays/rotting
Water bottle filled with sadnessEven praying after breaking it will rest in peaceThe shining meWhen looking forward to the starsUsing hollow namebecome familiar with the easeTaking The slow and disorderly playingideals and listing them one by oneEven clearly knowing itBut indulge in the "will come true" lie
