My Father built the house with his own hands.
He loved all kinds of weather or season.
He built it to span the gap between his heart and ours.
He spent too much time fighting his country's enemies.
He was raised by a man with a heart as cold as rain in autumn.
He used to be a beautiful man who walked by the river every morning with his passion for life.
But time has cut some marks on his very skin.

My Father painted the house with his own hands.
He loved all kinds of colour.
He painted the house white to show his true feelings for us.
Many's the time he ran down the road.
Seeking for his own truth of life
With his cold breath he showed me the true meaning of becoming a man.

One frozen night,it was late. I couldn't sleep.
I looked through the window.
There was my Father.
Standing under a Willow tree...naked and cold.
He was staring into the vagueness of the night. Afraid,maybe.
In his nakedness he looked so perfect.
His sun-burnt skin emitting weak lights of his childhood memory.
Wrong or forbidden,his naked body was the most beautiful thing i had ever seen.
A naked body of a man whose heart could bear and hide his secret feelings for years.
My body was shivering with curiousity and adoration.

My Father...
I wish i had been the wind that you're standing against.
I wish i had been the cold rain that covered you unmercifully
I wish i had been the ground that you're standing on.
I wish i could have understood why and when...
I wish i could have known you a lot better
I wish i had read your heart as you had read mine.