How many cities passed, erratic recklessness. Drop off your luggage and let your weary mind sigh in a moment. The rush of the journey, covering the rain is still the face that does not see a smile. The hoarse cries hid from the footsteps of blindness, and walking in the wind and dust at the beginning of sadness was not simply looking at the heartache mess.
Beside you, but not in your heart, love is floating in the air, and the lonely figure is his companion. The prophecy of the expression awaits you in the rain of idleness, the embodiment of coldness. The starry sky with yellowing and insomnia in the fallen leaves, the pain that surged in the disappearing moonlight, the condensed tears froze in the stagnation of the pain. The silent feelings have not stayed in the harbor of mooring, the hidden heart, the dusk that outlines the kiss marks in the precipitation of the rings, the youth that has a fate but no part, instead of me is the bits and pieces of time.
The rings of the city cannot modify the eternity of lies, the rain that passes by in the parting of the encounter, the light madness of the better the heartbeat of the date, the fear of losing people, the scars of the afterglow after turning around in the cold rain and forgetting the body temperature of love. The tick of the second brings the journey of dreams to forget.
The dragonflies that stay in the rain, the hearts that refract the rainbow, the swaying of the wind chimes cut and paste in the silhouette of time, and the scattered loneliness is fragile behind even the story of the winter night. Love breaks the heart, and the aftertaste of time in the wine becomes sober. The white windmill plays the song in the photo album, and the smile of the heart is like a knife in the tasteless love.
The opening melody is in the heartache ignition, never see the appearance of love, the sadness and joy of sustenance are clutched in the sadness, burying the expectations in the city. The lack of ignorance under the eaves. A glass of wine with thousands of emotions, the parting season in the heart is just a wordless promise. Scattered sorrows danced in the wind with a sigh of silence.
Hugging the rain of the past tightly, I don't complain about loneliness, but I'm afraid that there is nowhere else to leave. Looking at the neon in the road, fragile auditory hallucinations flowed with past love in the song. Suffocating love, staying in the love template of people coming and going. I don't know if anyone else counts the scars, and the tortured soul is abandoned by time in bravery. If there is an ageless age, the bitterness of passion is like a departure in the staggered time and space. Time forgets the rings of our love, and the warmth in the wind is faintly pursued.