When the falcon takes off in a late rainy evening,
when heroes are stuck in a dark dream and ambush,
I can see your face though my heart's still breaking,
I fall down the ravine of slaughter and torture.
What does really matter to write without thinking?
It is much more sincere to free your red heart.
I can't help stumbling upon such a danger,
what can really say when I'm hearing your weeping?
But you're not who cries cause the blanket protects you,
I actually am who the monsters look for.
So please do not beg me to give you any solace,
I am way too busy drying my tears.
You know I would die just for hearing your singing
but nobody told me I'd find so tall order.
Should I run home soon or should I stay here?
I didn't know why did I have to be stronger.
I hope all this flogging will give me more wisdom,
or maybe any person with dark wounds is wise.
There's room for some change but I feel I'm spliting.
I guess I should accept that it's how things are.
