The wind ruffles,
The city sleeps.
This judgement isn't yours,
But is made to keep.
What does one wish?
Upon the eternal moon.
To wash away its sorrows,
With the rain of monsoon.
Apr 6, 2020
Apr 6, 2020 at 8:10 AM UTC
The wind ruffles,
The city sleeps.
This judgement isn't yours,
But is made to keep.
What does one wish?
Upon the eternal moon.
To wash away its sorrows,
With the rain of monsoon.