I had wasted time more than much I could have filled an ocean...
Pity thy, nothing and so nothing is left to get fallen off...Tremor is when each moment passing by, I'm close to the end...
Win is the one colour I hope to see, for I shall spill red in one stroke of paint...
The quest of endurance remains till I reach that aloft cliff with no steep top...
Who cares?, Withering leaves are none but my soul, whom I beg not to leave me in distress...
But I have no time to dream as such, I'm left with wholesome nothingness which you see...
I'm ready herewith my shadow for this flash of war though I know,
to reach my end, must run if then alone would help...
I go straight with guts...
Time that I had wasted calls me "Oh dear", but "Bye" as smart I shall opt to say...
Wish me luck with all your strength that,
I could fly to reach my golden cliff...
