Pulling out a nail, on my heel, to have a hole.
Knocking on the gong, a plain woman hanging around, in front of the gate of god.
The crier telling, murdered I have, and crying also on today.
Taking on the usual seat, between three tables left, the provoking woman sitting at. Or, taking on the usual seat, between three tables left, the woman I cannot stop loving sitting at.
On my homecoming, on today once one year, the day getting a fight with.