It's like changing seasons, those sad and happy moments.
Moving in time, welcoming the blue flames over and over again.
I'm impaled in here, earth, my place of birth.
I heard a faint whisper, no salvation in here, just adaptation.
You bleed, you cry, you endure, and later you smile.
The mirror of life exposes the flourishing gardens inside your offended soul.
It's like changing seasons, but no one notices the storm that dwells within your hollow frames.