Apr 2020
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.
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.
