Trapped in the beauty of chaos, where the scarecrows are my long friends,
sometimes, they speak ill of me, but those words are all that's left.

No longer I know, whether it was only a dream or not,
nor I understand anymore, “why innocent was the worshipper of bonds?”
even though, I would love to not feel cold, but only warmth,
yet all I have, are those frozen bones, that makes me...