Blades, blades, blades in the water,
Throwing these cut pieces in the fire,
let the flames read my past
I ask them, ‘where is Ta now?’
rains, rains, rains in the blue street,
pouring like glue,
sticking all the sound.
I can’t hear the answer.
In the letter mom wrote，
‘Are you going back home by traveling far from it?’