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A body hanging in the empty sky, A lifeless sprout of fate, gone in love.
Tired and beaten, guilty and forgotten, it hangs above the darkness of faceless dreams.

And the horizon, passing through the heights, causing nausea, I will die, leaving a trace. But in whose soul, bloody and terrible, hangs under the sky and devotedly loved?

The essence of failure is to surrender.

What determines the fate of mankind in this world? Some invisible being or a law, like the hand of God, hovering above the world? At least it is true that man has no power even over his own will.
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