The dark gray evening

is gliding over the window.

The streetlamp is in a hurry

cast a light in the air.

It’s glistening with life’s temptations,

pretending to be a starlight.

A lonely moth was tricked by artificial starlight

and the flapping of his wings

have a wild desire to catch the light.

Ignore times,

turn away seasons.

Between the darkness and the light

he squeezes in his soul

under the great temptation.

Must he cremate his burning avarice soul?

How pitiful it is!

The soft hazy powder 

is going to fly high up in the air 

burying in the clouds.

And the soft raindrops mourning of

the rectangle crematorium’s sadness

It's hovering around, 

the smoke continues to scatter

Is it a moth’s soul

Or mine?

None can tell.

How can I be free 

from temptations?

When can I be free 

from endless greediness?

Oh, god

I can only pray to you 

for my poor ill soul.

The dark gray evening

is gliding over the window.

The nights coming, now.

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