The tragedy was not so great, it was a strange fire, if its blood is from your blood, the one who spilled mercilessly, the wicked is dry and wet,
I stared at you with thousands of hopes, and the eyes of the reconciliator, forgive me, do not be reconciled, I was your gardener in this way, I was your gardener, but I lost myself , I became the axe of my kind child, open the door and punch the door, your father, the
opium garden, bloomed in my heart, so that it burned from the root of the leaf and I left. I wish I could see the fire from the leaves and the flame of your flame, the
catastrophe was not so great, it was a strange fire, if its blood was from your blood, the one who struck it mercilessly, the sparks are dry and wet,
I was your gardener, but I lost myself , I became an axe, my kind child, open the door, your father punches the door.
