Maybe in that distant place, camphor tree, silver suguang next to the light, those such as dream magic screen, like sadness engraved on my mind. A can't abstain from feast, full of longing for people in the same direction and for the Aion Gold, pious chasing their dreams. I'm still here, waiting silently a brilliant spring.
All the flowers, Willow green, was a loose wait.
The old roof tiles, silence rings. Rolling in years, pulled all disturbing emotions of pain, seigaku in the plot of a blue sky, I left a season of bustling.
Front suspension for a century of thinking, in the days of Sun and good, as dust, old.
Those heartbreaking irreducible in the youth's love, in the years vast lost direction, no one to look for. Are wind dried memories hidden road erosion of sadness. Stay, have been dipped below the unknown deep-sea.
Those swaying flower smile under the chronology of the Indus, night after night listening to the rings end, telling their own good. After all these years we have been lost in a strange smile.