Good thing that, aim for the sky when you're the shooting star
I'm sorry for my life, I'm a two-finger
Move all of us to moon swing, you know
Take all of your feet, that's the whole thing, you know
Risk of protect you, all the fault from the God
And all the poor things forgot, we did your stuff, I brought you
You, that we used to paint and move the mountain
You feel nobody could have tell me I'm not chosen
Picking up my blaze in the mountain, count them
Watch them overflow like the fountain
Round nine gone, now I round ten
You're my