the emptyness of resonator tries to cry
the resoluteless rhymes
above the willows and lovers nestled up to
themselves and forbidden
with whistles and slightly attempted crimes
of to make the sencere smiles as possible hidden
crying out the high words just to be
more unhampered
trying hard to explain the lyrics' sense to the Lord
while these spiritless dumbs try to be tempted
'poor boy, i'm still here -
i've been all round this world'