She wore moonlight, like a ball gown.
While the illumination dripped from above.
Her quintessential eloquence, brought her naked lips, looking like delicacy for a gourmet.
Her eyes gazing at the sky, looking like a shooting star, except going up.
If 'beauty' was a human, she'd be an exaggeration to the word.
A sound of her voice could calm the tsunami heading for east asia,
and when she calls my name, it feels like I've only heard it for the first time...
She used to be mine.
But she's gone, like the shooting star.
And i never made a wish.