Radio chatters transitioning here and there,
the shouts and laughs again,
are trying to take away
the wispy, teary blonde hair memory

Marking our paths like the shooting stars,
along the edge of the cumulus clouds,
in a starry and black velvet sky.


Searching the divine midnight sky,
little stars, yellow stars, bright stars, gay stars,
flashing through the air,
true virtue lies in the cross.

Across the frigid ocean we fly,
no longer needing a word.
Sipping the Yvecourt Rouge in my glass,
sleeping thoughts make my eye lids fall,
like the window shades.

I put on my noise cancellation,
through it comes the clear and rich music.
My mind begins to autopilot.

No one is out there in the solitary mid-sky,
just the moonlight and the shiny ornaments,
lightening up the great vast ocean,
with their silvery lights.

As though me, like the shepherd, is here alone,
cruising in the wild.
No matter how strong the Acheeans were,
no matter what Muse has taught me,
with all that they achieved and sufferred,
I am ready for the wooden horse and its fashioning.

Echos from the last theme
is still so fresh and vivid.
It is because of those lies are told just like truth,
as we try to orchestrate the reality.

I awake.
I feel my heart,
no part is left out.
With the twilight runway in sight,
my heart beats faster,
my heart surrenders.