A laughing stock
If the thorn of the rose pierces your hand
Pretending to be casual but scratching memories
Time runs through the gap, and then you emerge
If you wake up again, will you give up
Recount the details of prosperity will make a forest for you
The growing aphasia swallows the sweetness
Maybe you don't mind the end
It's like a game of dumb chess to see through the mess
The dead heart is already vulnerable
Jump out of memory, but still unable to fight back
Leave you that kind of most lose heart frequency
Put down the associated memories, do not want to escape
The dead heart is already vulnerable
Jump out of memory, but still unable to fight back
Will cry contributed to a laughing stock
Let the past laugh at your lost courage
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