A wintry sky and the broken streetlight cold wind.
Unknown shadow the footprint of desertion.
If it wakes up a gloomy ceiling.
A laughing voice sinks in the eardrum it is soiled.
An understanding is impossible.
Why was I chosen? Someone should answer…
There is no hand of preparing of the disordered hair.
A laughing voice sinks in the eardrum a
faint temperature is mixed in the midwinter.
