My clay is changing
Every time you hold it
Still my heart is pumping
To the old hand who create it.

I prefer you mold me
Even if your hands is sweaty
Please promise to protect me.
To the old hand who create it

You old hand,
You old hand
Could you stop molding me
I can't see my new path,
stop blocking it.

Now the new hand is missing
The old hand is coming
I don't want to see you
Please come back if you're ready.