Sing Sweet Nightingale
Does the single flicker of a star,
Glitters like hope until it's warped dark
into disappearance?
So is my innocence filmed by illusion of dreams,
Wasted when the confetti bursts for my birthday,
Stashes of ribbons on my hair, on my head, a little bit sweet
Forthcoming
Becoming
Of maiden guide—
Nothing. You idiots.
Where darkness belched smoke
Coughed the opposite of assurance
Gives air of despair, a little bit bright
But Eurasian bird chirp, a little pest for the grain
Eurasian little sparrows about to eat rice
It's not a sweet nightingale
But sigh your heart out, dear sentiments
Sentiments dwindling far beneath the pits of abyss
And found that a little piece of ground
Is the monotony always held with one's palm
I pat my own shoulders,
Irrational, where these thoughts string themselves and weave beyond to a hollow abstract rhythm
Laugh out loud,
Forget, reminisce and pick it up
With same nonchalance
Ah, so was yesterday
Is tomorrow
Of today's presence
And tomorrow's beforehand
