The lewd men who flock to the blue sky What a thin blue thing in the Adam's apple I'm slamming my mouth right now I'm about to talk about the sadness of my chest Sea quiet soul is sick People tired Trees screaming spring hey No one responds even though there is no one I think that there is no one I'm right I'm bright and fresh, but I'm just praying now without anyone I'm out of the way, the earth scent, the trees are buying spring treasure whales There is a certain kind of hard work on the spine of an old man. It's like my own arrogance, it's a little nostalgic. It's a rusty dream. Snow is dispelled. Today's trees are spring.