Left from the distant nights on the raw path of the porcelain stone forest of the hearth, Andrew, the ashes of coldness, still the dust of my thoughts, my boring thoughts, the
pictorial sketch in it, everything. A story that resulted in pain. [Persian Music on IranSong] My sweet day, which had a fire with me, the pattern has become discolored, it has become cold, it has turned into stone, with the autumn of my life, the longing of spring on the yellowness left by the distant nights on the silent path of Nima Yoshij forest
