mayflies fly around fire
hot and dire, but still beautiful
knowing the life short and dull
so the life short and last unsunk
the hope was only re-sprung.
i’m the mayfly
knowing fire is too hot to pile
handle cause burnt and cry
so why my hands still try
the reason? i still don’t know why
so keep try asking it here and wrote this lullaby
if any passing by
can carry my words and carry my mind
to the source of my cry
let she does all the reply
and all of that will be the full of my satisfy.