Warm woods. I could chose to be anyone I want. Then why am I a monster?
Walking through this forest, not as a man, but as a animal.
In nature, there's no right and wrong, just cause and effect.
In my nature, I've done wrong, and I have nothing left.
Rustic woods. I walk through leaves. Between trees, with sunlight beams shining down.
These's woods will never do me wrong. Nor I them.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem