She is not a creator, a follower not a master.
Does it look like the painful wound, but she is the old scar.
Let her see through the Crystal glass,
the radiating lights, the cheerful smiles,
She is a faker love, she knows the vines.
Take her hand and walk through your dark swoon ,
recite your poem and the story of the lonely moon,
And once, let the broken pieces scatter before her............
show your wounded wings, let her be the healer.