On this rancor, I am stunning to see a beautiful irruption,
Surrounded by murk which is glows in this hulk.
Fascinated by flaws of drooping wimples,
A loser writes the feelings into a thin line which is flat.
Lives of bread make harmony in morons.
Throughout the blood veil, it gives love.
I wish I can hear the locust flowers sing,
And they will not stop me to drip on everything.
Otohime 