From door to door
I tried to offer a name
For the sake of my son's crying
And complained his mother
But it seems all eyes
Looked at me suspiciously
As if to be naked
And the skin of my soul
Is this self book always black and black
Whether in history one must be a hero
The God up there never punished
With a sharper eye than the sun
Where is the siren?
The conscience of the morning dew
That is usually friendly
Now burns the heart
Was it wrong
Will still be considered wrong
No more time to self-fix
There's no place to go back
