Hi, Miss Alice.
In your glass eye, what sort of dream,
are you seeing? Are you seeing?

Once again, my heart has burst, and is pouring out.
"Repair it." Call the memories trapped in the crevice.

Hi, Miss Alice.
With that fruitful lips, to whom does love,
is cast away? Is lamented?

Once again, I spin my words, the feverish tongue has turned cold,
The song of love, cannot be sung either.

Still, you do not answer.