If I am a long silence, it does not mean I do not care or do not care.
There are nails that seem to stick in my side.
Will not be separated even though this tongue you pull from the organ network.
Your voice I can hear even though I can not answer.
As if there is a wall that prevents even though we are in a vast field.
I can not move, walk to see your reflected image of the moon dim.
My legs felt bound by cobwebs.
Really, I can not afford to break away from her trap.
Under the moon's dim, when my spiritual soul is bound by a web of spiders, with a moaning heart, I assume your shadow has disappeared.
