All that is gold does not glitter, Not all those who wander are lost; The old that is strong does not wither, Deep roots are not reached by the frost. From the ashes a fire shall be woken, a light from the shadows shall spring; Renewed shall be blade that was broken, The crownless again shall be king. Trees are poems the earth writes upon the sky, We fell them down and turn them into paper, That we may record our emptiness. One ought, every day at least, to hear a little song, read a good poem, see a fine picture, and, if it were possible, to speak a few reasonable words. Starting from the morning it's already deja vu, unfamiliar but the same day. Should I hide? Should I run away? I'm thinking, I rummage through the black hat but I always get the same thing either a white rabbit or a dove that's all same. Every day, there's a flash in my heart, a shining rainbow, a colorless world that is boring. Will you change it with your fingers? red, orange, yellow, green, even thicker, color me with many colors all day, I'm laughing to the point where my heart pounds. fill me with many colors, red, orange, yellow, green, something highlighted, surprising changes all day. Happy ending, the same ending me without you, so what I can do? a repertoire that's nothing special. Stop with that now I wanna walk like a runway even if I seem cold, so I can look different I'll show myself to you. 翼のあるバニー、変だ。