It is o four hundred
And no fruits for today
It is a little bit too late to sleep
But happy was the lamp of the bright world

I hear synthesizer
That I want my head to synthesize
And pop shuffled
Will go down in the dawn

Nine minutes in the middle of a chaotic mind
As I lay my fingers on the keys
Full-speed in a numb fan
Voices of whisperers

Apparent death
Feel to spare some time
Whisperers echoed fifteen minutes after four
Two points of view are not enough

It is about to rainy season
When clouds overtake the sun
Missed her presence
In monsoon air

Heaven is bliss
An everlasting palace to stay
But the ability to take the step is gone
Between me and Him.