April were the old days when we used to reap, we laid on the grain field with all of our pleasure. I'm across the golden rye, to sing songs for my jackstraw, and wait for the howling wind blows.
you walked by a small town where is only "me" existing, at the time when the snow on the rooftop started to melt into rain. I saw you came here with being-less body, but I could hear that you're singing my best-loved songs, only for me.
take me to the place where the river is by the grassland, to wait for the migratory birds come back, and we may have a child if you still love me.
but he will leave us when he grows up, and that will be the day we have to say goodbye to each other.
I'll write for you in that day surely, though you're not supposed to think of me again, 'coz I believe that's where the story ends.
April were the old days when we used to reap, we laid on the grain field with all of our pleasure. I'm across the golden rye, to sing songs for my jackstraw, and wait for the howling wind blows.
you walked by a small town where is only "me" existing, at the time when the snow on the rooftop started to melt into rain. I saw you came here with being-less body, but I could hear that you're singing my best-loved songs, only for me.
take me to the place where the river is by the grassland, to wait for the migratory birds come back, and we may have a child if you still love me.
but he will leave us when he grows up, and that will be the day we have to say goodbye to each other.
I'll write for you in that day surely, though you're not supposed to think of me again, 'coz I believe that's where the story ends.
