When I miss the still time, I will slowly flow from my heart through a juvenile, in the sun, I become silent.
In those years, less promises have made this moment become permanent as the wind is slow and falling from the treetops.
I think you still remember whether it would be clear that the past sky is a slight rain but I can't see you, I think you look my dream, the flowers, the flowers, the flowers, which seems to be returned to the past, I think of you.
