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My skin starts synchronizing, under a cracked sky.
Scatter my empty body by letting dry wind blow inside me
and fly off to the end of impermanence.

Even if I point my gun at the candy work, I'll wait for the self-purification happens in 0 am
and greet tomorrow, pretending I have nothing to do with it.

"I wouldn't die as a flower if I die as a bud."
I'll try to hide my weakness.

If you recognize my childish contrariness, please whisper me that the thorny sea is nowhere to be found and push me forward.
Even If my foot is dyed read,
I will not have a grudge against the truth which was told by negative overlapping.
It's a petty guidepost.

It's more precious than the love song that descends(falls) on us indiscriminately.
The path without retreat left for us who can not choose not to be born.
A ray of light just beside myself.

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