What have I become?
Where are the soft-lipped winds of precious youth?
Where are the serene hues of the bliss of naivety?
Oh, how I long for a mind free of chains of depravity!
...
When the dawn flies up and the evening comes,
As the moon stares off with the setting sun,
When the stars and clouds glow golden grey,
They sing their song till break of day.
...