I am used to the sound of breaking

It is the sound of the sunset falling on the water

It is the sound of the soul leaving the body

It is the sound of picking up a bowl of stars and the moon and looking around in disbelief

It is the sound of bones crumbling in the world, and the sound of the world swelling and paining the bones

It is the sound of the dark night when you are not found

The sound of a flock of birds passing by hurting the blue sky and white clouds

It is the sound of standing on the river bank and listening to the rain

It is the sound of the hometown lost and she is lost

It is the sound of a young seedling in the field moaning and groaning

It is the sound of me killing myself again and again and coming back to life in the dust

I have long been accustomed to this colorful sound of breaking

Even if you put down the axe that shines above my head

I am still ready to die for love in my journey towards you

As if the sound of spring is only the sound of breaking again and again

It is the raging of wandering on earth through a mountain peak