"Hometown, Evening, Lyrical" other three songs

"Hometown, Evening, Lyric"

He wants to knock his head and knock out the past inside

Actually, it's nothing, his heart is empty, and you break up

Use nail clippers to pick the thorns of the years

There are people who are silent in their love for each other, I hear

That poet with the young you

Yes, it's you, please come and offer your dreams, under the tree

To get off to a good start, we're going to fall in love with that girl

And put a lot of face on your face

Where to start, the crystal slipper is still a white leather bag

It's autumn for imagination

The wind was blowing through my sweater instead of the tree on my chest

You know he was in my hometown, that old man in the dust

Some people say that the tree is in my name, and it is still rooted in my imagination

My girl is not still in the ground, in the shade of a tree

Sweat will run down and the sun will live in the sky

Your gaze is like the wind, and it brings me that storm

"Pupae Breaking"

Let's say you're behind me, dressed in pictographic waves

Instead of a suspender garment, I often ask the woman

And how do women know that men are men in lies

You're in my day, the wriggling white day

What else is shining in my dreams, snowflakes and salt,

Where is not salty enough, it is better to wake up that person first

It doesn't know what I'm doing

The house is very old and it says it's going to stop in that place forever

No one saw what I did, in that hard shell

Under the curtain of the world, shadows are like fire

People don't speak, and the grass is covered with white mist

Like the beard of the times, there is something ahead of me

My hand cannot guide you, no one knows

Where will it fly, that bug of the night

The one in my heart struggled out with only wings and sharp eyebrows

"Evening of Money Worshippers"

You're kind of like, the one that doesn't exist

And in my dreams, the moonlight on those scraps of paper

Like another kind of maze, you go home in the evening

My mother is still earning money, and the sun is flying in the vegetable market

You don't have enough money to buy that garlic, someone said you

With the catastrophe that you disappear in the palm of your hand

The kitchen knife that runs across in front of you, sharp

Cut off the time, and the scars on your five fingers are healed

He said he couldn't sell the orange, the orange hanging in the air

And I don't just like your swearing, I want to touch your soul

The soul doesn't come running over or bite me on its own

It's time for it all to end, your kids

In the room, you feel that it is not as good

Tear off that textbook and someone else's lyrical novel

And I still want to worship you, and you are synonymous with gold

I'll be after the flowers and fireworks

Tell you about the past that I never had