Shrouded by shadows of the past
No more outgoing and try though
A time so bitter is what it feels like,
The death cry echoes strong on high,
Resides within me a hard fate,
And when another path if present
The chest pain and revolves so frequent
I do not see any trace illuminated.
Could see in the eyes of this sun,
The clear feeling, rare lighthouse
But all withholding fantasy,
Only I still have the shroud,
The scene that sees harsh and baleful
Happiness never been seen ...