The dusk will rustle with a rotten giggle
paint with darkness the remains of the forest
Though the remnants of green sing unsaddened songs
It is, however, an awareness of the inevitable monologue
gloating with mysterious fear
It's destiny to sit in a corner.
on a broken, rotten trunk
Like a symbol of the soul.
sudden vocabulary does not wash the character
partly only by straightening out the groin
He hears the lark
sings advanced on the misty
clear gloss
He wants to believe he sees the dawn
on the edge of a dream
simultaneously with unstable levels
I admit the face
belongs to a wanderer
♪ Walking the spring forest ♪
stop
I'm late.
incomprehensible words
But the feet no longer contact the ground
