The rustle of dry leaves. Fall. But it all can’t cool down some outburst. The window tells you run away from here, Run to the edge where you will see a new prospect. But you’ll never come home, You’ll never stop the rain, You’ll never come home, you’ll never come home. Ch: And all your possibilities lie there at the bottom, Need only take a step and you’ll rush to the passion maelstrom, There you will be in flames, in a sweat, Go ahead, you’re so hoping for it! But passion will fade, is this bliss? And you’ll always stay on the cliff
It was so warm and calm to wrap yourself up in the wool blanket. The place where only sweet milk made snowflakes At night and Moon closed white eyes with you. Will you ever come home? Will you ever stop the rain? Will you ever come home, will you ever come home?
Ch. And all your possibilities lie there at the bottom, Need only take a step and you’ll rush to the passion maelstrom, There you will be in flames, in a sweat, Go ahead, you’re so hoping for it! But passion will fade, is this bliss? And you’ll always stay on the cliff Br: Keep up with night, feel the wet grass under your feet And ponder what is better: pacification or fiery fervor