I can’t tell because of my childish hurt. You don’t tell because of your tender heart. I can’t speak. I’ve been soft boiled. Soft boiled. You don’t speak. You carry in your arms cowardly cruel. Yearn heart to you has been stayed in my hurt. Today, morrow, I can’t tell my yearn heart. I clung to my distortion. Now it’s spreading away to this blue sky. Melting shadows and your contradiction is imbued to the dew condensation glass door.
