I'm not belong to church with

gloomy eyes.

My wings lost its sheen.

I'm the slave of freedom.

Noise is wandering on the street and

prosperity is floating on the surface.

I was born a puppet.

Those noble people

think raising could compensate their sins.

I have that freedom

which are whole they could give.

I'm lingering over the small space,

looking for the existence of life.

You are appreciating me.

I'm also staring at you.

So who is a prisoner of whom?

white dove