I know this place, filled with ruins
Twigs rising from moss-covered from concrete beams, dew-soaked earth
It's cold and wet, not so pleasant to come in
It's twilight for 12 months
Neither Sun nor the moon rises on the sky here
Are you asking about how it sounds?
No sound, Pin-drop silence
You'll yearn to hear even the sound of an insect
Standing still like a slap on the face
Of gardens and cottages I have built.
I cried for years, being stuck under the debris
Sniffing the dust with my broken ribs
Nobody heard, nobody came
Until one day, the beam felt lighter to push away
I stood up, patted the dust away from my clothes
Followed a narrow trail out of this place
How am I back here again?
I don't recall taking the trail back
In fact, I kept myself away
There it is, but why can't I move?
My clothes are soaked in dew
I'm weeping like a kid, holding knees to my chest
How do I go out this time?
Will the earth loosen its grip on me?