A sprig weak, a chair you sit on, I sweat there.
At this valley in between being involved and being left behind, where the time will come flowers bloom.
At the happy ending, falling down in my stomach, the shoes singin’. Or, at the happy ending, to understand, and the shoes singin’.
At the edge of the moon, who being a lap behind, an angel only there is .
By my breathing, to play instrument, on your spit.