"The seasons die off one by one, their voices of demise turn to winds,
The stars who can't get drunk in the sky and romantic moon beams.
Its a translucent shadow which uncertain to call it me,
Its living if I sing to the rain, would the clouds break?
Its a withered life in a boisterous glee.
The rhythmic verse bids a loathsome past the final goodbye,
Smeared in agony, grieving and lamenting,
Yet the song never ends as it lowers its head in a gentle shy."
Following
Story by SNOW ESPADA
HYDRANGEA
They say dreams are our realities in waiting where the seeds of the future is planted. And what if a journey...