We call it Quicksand Street, despite what the road signs say. Where the sidewalks should be, two long columns of dirt reside, that kick up dust in the summertime. In the spring, when the rain really ... [+]
They walked along the trail
in their own rhythm
even the flies landed on their faces
I appreciate the moomoo
To ignore the human
To do what they want
To embrace the nature
I wanna befriend with the moomoo
Although
I cannot find my rhythm
The flies hover
my realm
She sat on the bench
in her own realm
even the gloom shaded her face
I question my moomoo
For the smile she gives
For the restraint she has
For the apathy I have
I didn't glance back with my moomoo
Although
I have intruded her realm
Melancholy composes
my rhythm
in their own rhythm
even the flies landed on their faces
I appreciate the moomoo
To ignore the human
To do what they want
To embrace the nature
I wanna befriend with the moomoo
Although
I cannot find my rhythm
The flies hover
my realm
She sat on the bench
in her own realm
even the gloom shaded her face
I question my moomoo
For the smile she gives
For the restraint she has
For the apathy I have
I didn't glance back with my moomoo
Although
I have intruded her realm
Melancholy composes
my rhythm