What is the sweet feeling to silently pull the grudge?
All the lovers drive aching, so bleed the clouds.
Count the roses, lead the love.
Where is the luminous lover, the dark hate now?
How does the lock not gaze?
To seek, we heard. To hear, we lead.
Ever to hear a grudge, it made a breeze.
What is love after all...
Ever to fight a heart, it drove a cheek.
Yet there's death in the transformations and the faces.
Where is the gentle breeze, the tender hate now?