The fugitive bonfires raise their heads,
A period ignores the ancient lights.
With a gleam as if the pitiable hope,
Candles could not be modern nevermore.
We’ve been exposed for a question,
Where we came from and where we would go?
Even the tears appear on our eyelashes every moment,
They could not be modern nevermore.
Pictures can be so beautiful but,
Someday an authenticity will be known.
Those moments reminded us a soul,
That could not be modern nevermore.
Still increasing the mannerism of malice,
That can destroy an immaculacy.
The means to enhance the sorrows in the world,
Shortages could not be modern nevermore.
The fallen leaves could return sooner or later,
Wherever they are that left its green land…
Turned yellow as if the sheet of a soul,
Sorrows could not be modern nevermore.