Ô saisons, ô sous-sols,
Hate soleil
North wind through us is not orange
The blank of the world is not blanc
Living naked is boring
“A treasure in the heavens that faileth not, where no thief approacheth, neither moth corrupteth”
We don’t know ourselves even our civilization developed very much
It is still dark land
What is the treasure in the heavens?
Only God knows
Staring at despair itself in despair
Don’t stop
Keep going
Resist
Under the shiny blue sky
In the storm
In War and Peace
Ô saisons, ô sous-sols