āĻ āύā§āĻā§āϤāĻŋ āϝā§āĻāĻžāύ⧠āĻĒā§āϰāĻāĻžāĻļ āĻĒāĻžāϝāĻŧ
Begging from fireflies \\r\\nFor a night or two, the moon washes away the filth of the eyes. Starting from zero \\r\\nto the face of the face, he sits with his moon-burnt face, in the starry night, holding his shawl, timeless! The ghost wakes up next to this pile of death, listening to the seed mantra!