You have their own White may not need any name Flowers of death in the most sober eyes open We therefore kneel Ashes of the time came to be And we are nothing, blushing Hiding in the pocket, such as a pseudo-currency
You are the fire baby, growing up in the spontaneous combustion No matter who's arrogant to provoke you punch pomegranate Elevated plus it angrily, but the violence against sweat You are the legend that half of the candle The other half outside in the ashes