I thought of you in secret
I spent a lot of time in the river of desire
Who will listen to the painful stories?
What will give me an evening gift?
No one has time to stop and listen
We're just running around,
Poetry here is poison to the ears,
The god of the curse whistles.
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Many years waiting for dawn
There's still a long way to go,
Yet I hope as long as I live,
My will is my strength.