"The seasons die off one by one, their voices of demise turn to winds,

The stars who can't get drunk in the sky and romantic moon beams.

Its a translucent shadow which uncertain to call it me,

Its living if I sing to the rain, would the clouds break?

Its a withered life in a boisterous glee.

The rhythmic verse bids a loathsome past the final goodbye,

Smeared in agony, grieving and lamenting,

Yet the song never ends as it lowers its head in a gentle shy."