The lights are red and the willows are green, dazzling, but people’s hearts are extraordinarily transparent.
There are no more benevolent faces and kind words at the crossroads.
The ancient buildings are covered with vines in the shape of maple leaves, and there are bleak pictures in the singing.
Under the not very hot sky, the smell quietly steals our brewing.
Sad yet unbelievable, ridiculous yet unavoidable, back and forth.
