Whenever I waver between two rathers
Whenever I wither between two reality shows
I see beautiful green goddesses along the way,
Its lighten up by the tulips.
I ask myself, “Is this my crybaby?”
Whenever the wincing left me behind.
All just an a open blur to a storm that zithered
Mein kampf, wishing you are helium with me.
Hear!, the crickets are dreaming to say love.
Please, don’t libel me,
Hold my ideas and you’ll see the petulance of life with me.
Otohime 