My longing for you to wake up again like a, drought that has a season so long that no dew. Will not be found on the dry kerontang lies ,along the green field withered.
Even a breezy bastard slapped, when the barren complains to the straw that lies, when the arid yell on the dry yellow-stained.
Buckled shoots weeds greet the rain that never came, such as my old sense of silence, when love has been immersed in a metaphor, when love has been forgotten far away without a tale of a story when a miserable, and the memories settled in the deepest unbalanced heart's trough, one day.
I will again miss you as it is today, when my fragile heart is tired in a lonely
