Sad, hang in a corner, telling the story of the us fake oakleys, pull open the curtain, that is we made up of the world. Such as carpet, colourful, but be a rain doused the unique enthusiasm, original all, all in the sink, the original story was over.

Points a smoke, vomit a smoke turn, static lay on the floor, the cool to make me feel a presence, originally I was alive, perhaps just the body, the soul has to fly to the distance. The heart but gradually calm, originally night is deep and the city bright lights, neon glare, thorn eyes my sore, accustomed to the darkness, was only a shadow, projection of light, in the long pull behind, lonely and sad. Light ah, please away from me, for I'm just the darkness of the children.

I look up the sky, the moon as I, pouring out of the music around me, when the train into the strange city, that is never seen the neon. Strange city, neon company, but it is strange, walk in the night on the way to the strange, shuttle wander in strange in the crowd, but it suddenly reminded of those with me all the way walk through childhood, wander in the edge of the youth friend, they face but also vague, who stole that flow time? I open absence to send me the letter when, suddenly feel matchless and missing. Miss, a distant and grief, is what taste, is thousand of helpless, or the crowd brush past as soon as flickers, that tore heart crack lung's pain, curled up on the floor crying and after the memory of you touch kind, is called the deserved it, or the world had said an idiot, you say make mean?

Choose sadness of you I, always sit in the corner, and keep his party the pure land, and go not to go out, also never let other people easily close to, like a mad alive, peopled with himself, is in the eyes of the world alternative well, additional kind you but I have also always in the boundless in search for a friend, someone told me, so many friends in this world, but an entire life may also wants to seek not to come.

I always in the friend's story of their tears flow, and the tears be airing later, but no one was found the traces of the staining, only the night of the moon, as my white face, more transparent, and according to the earth, and according to the city, as into my heart.

Again read poems "youth" like also slowly but understand that a helpless, and the end, has written, tears are already set off, but forget whether in that no longer back of summer dopie, was doomed to a start, turn over the yellow photos, memories will only be remembered the moment under these, never to return, things not everything is Sue, youth, whether you from too early, is too hasty, striving to recall time passes, but original or have to admit that the youth is a rush of books, and the end, begins to leave, why should remain in again when parting a sentimental? Because we are all mortal, desires and our patent.

Every day in the night, in every moment of trance, in that not enough time to tell of the summer departure, would suddenly look back, that did not tell the export of three words, whether can wave with tears depart, the original we already grew up, in the time of youth gradually buried, and moonlight, as that night, bright