Will the time comes back,
like the wind that rotates on the blue sky?
visits the dying heaven,
dreaming of rain in the dry season.
This vacuum room is so oppressive,
all anxiety flying around me,
my thoughts almost dead,
only to hope you stop by for a moment.
I'm aware of my hubris,
live above earthly umbrella,
until death finally comes,
still I'm dreaming of you.
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