I am caught in a still emotion,
Crowning those gracious
Wrinkles upon my head;
The crowds see it as art,
An ukiyo-e presiding over the
Floating worlds, places like Rome.
Though, it still fell. But I caught
That plague 1,000 years ago
Like a falling star, burnt out on feeling sad.
A cold grip fit me a century ago,
And I wanted it to piece my brain.