After half a minute of conversation
After half a minute of conversation
I feel short of breath;
before I've walked three steps outside
I want to call a carriage.
All that's left are my two eyes,
muddled as they are:
they long to see the flowers
in this foggy world of ours.
I feel short of breath;
before I've walked three steps outside
I want to call a carriage.
All that's left are my two eyes,
muddled as they are:
they long to see the flowers
in this foggy world of ours.
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