Early morning, sun's hidden, it's cold.
Sharp smell of fog, pleasant that of moist soil in the air.
I see the amber burning, i see the smoke.
Pungent smell of burning rubber is also there.
I see the trees, i see the plants,
I see the few, colourful blossoms near.
My face feels ice cold on my warm palm.
There's also something sweet lingering here.
