Oh, pretty, pretty face
These dimmed light makes it ugly anyways
Smooth mortal skin
Gives away everything
Just stand alone in the cold
Closing heart and closed churches
Hey you, what you doing at 3 am?
Infront of your imaginary home
Open up, I yelled
Do you hear me now?
I imagined that you did
Too bad you've also got deadears
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem