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acima dos prados ricos com milho
o ar é como uma borboleta
da canção e do sonho para ido sempre
as montanhas são povos silenciosos
eu não queimo nenhum incense
como deva mim ajude à direita ao mundo que está indo erradamente
eu amei uma mulher
a mulher faltou-me muito, como você se chama me, chamada
o rolo sad do cilindro muffled tem a batida
a criança que jogou afastado a folha após a folha
eu gosto d

 



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