Now you can no longer say it Pattern rain will erase a long story Which is written so neatly between the leaves of the weeds Because the flowing water turns into endless ink Writes the story on the branches of the trees   After that, on a leaf even yellow It has been recorded when it will fall to the earth Bringing a narrative about a lonely line On the western boundary of the horizon that is clearly drawn In a map drawn by rain In the world of the end era All will be resurrected All will be held accountable Hold on to what has been done