The Poem Is In My Hands, And

Far Away, Our Dreams Have Nothing To Do With What We Do. The Wind Carries The Night, And Passes On, Aimless.

My Homeland Is Not A Suitcase, And I Am No Traveller

The Poem Is Neither Here Nor There, And With A Girl's Breast It Can Illuminate The Nights. With The Glow Of An Apple It Fills Two Bodies With Light And With A Gardenia's Breath It Can Revive A Homeland!

Standing Here, Staying Here, Permanent Here, Eternal Here, And We Have One Goal, One, One: To Be.

I Never Wanted Children, Maybe I'm Afraid Of Responsibility.