Harvest
The earth dies at dawn.
The seeds are increasingly scarce.
The withered heart, with the last hope to flourish in the chaos.
The seeds are increasingly scarce.
The withered heart, with the last hope to flourish in the chaos.
Every time you die, it's getting harder to get up;
thorns and weeds take over this body ,though,
the hope covers me again.
thorns and weeds take over this body ,though,
the hope covers me again.
I'm sure that the harvest will be a success
I'm sure that I will be beautiful as ever.
I'm sure that I will be beautiful as ever.
