Sun went down long before our rise,
The roosters were silenced,
for it can't be our beginning.
Now, dusk would never meet the dawn.
They say love is everyone's first instinct,
Is it why our children never kissed the sun?

Maybe the caterpillar hasn't been in the snail's shell.

Our prayers were a mirage in their eyes,
And our cries will be their evening prayers.
We never ignited fragrance from our incense sticks,
It always spilled our crimson blood.
Glass shard reflected our blood-smeared face,
After all these times, will the sun finally rise?
Now it can't sink low, as our skin burns with its heat.
Finally, the black sky can now rest on the moon's feet.

Maybe the caterpillar hasn't been in the snail's shell.

We let the moon hang on our black sky,
Then, why can't the white clouds let us rise?
Now is the time when we carve on their back.
Every shooting star will be our wish,
leaving a scar upon them.
And then, dusk will meet her long-lost love, dawn.

Maybe the caterpillar hasn't been in the snail's shell.