Lit across, the vast dark skies;
like a pony, in a realm of grassland;
he hugs to his melancholic self,
lest he is dwarfed by thee.
through the paddy fields,
on a rainy day;
walking among the poodles:
across the moor, she blows away.
We, the earthen people,
We, a mere blink on this known land,
We, the takers of vanity,
We, who owe to a chance,
I can't come to owe itself to me
lest i would be forever harrased
even the ga ga going crowds don't
what this melancholic buffalo bull does to me.