Drifting in the wind.
Run to the distant plain
Rush to the top of the mountain.
Run to the nearby bamboo forest
In the middle of; Are busy
There is a road.
To the end of the sky
The way home
A resting place leading to the soul
the past
There are rings of years.
The wind blew the bamboo leaves loudly.
The moonlight reflects the bamboo leaves.
Rain beats bamboo leaves green and fragrant.
Palm trees once planted here.
There are yellow rough cocoons.
With mottled lines and scars
There is a strong blood flow to the ground.
commemorate
I have a beautiful home.
I want to spend my old age there.
There are my father, mother and mine. Lots of good memories.
I just can't find my way home gradually.
Everything seems to have disappeared without a trace.
Although my home is changing with each passing day.
But not as nostalgic as I used to be.
Although she has grown up slowly and become strong.
Closure is her philosophy, even if people laugh and laugh inside.
But it also lacks the purest and purest side.
There are besieged cities made of steel everywhere.
People fight for each other, an ideal city.
Just like a general guarding his home, it is inviolable.
I missed my previous expectations. It's the same everywhere.
Floating Life ... Home Page ...
So you are just a beautiful bubble.
Wandering only in dreams
Those memories of the past
Blurred my eyes.
Maybe it will never appear again.