Year
She once called me a shooting star
Years gone by,
I still think of her as I fly.
Passing her orbit,
Wondering if she ever turns her face to the sky
Hoping to catch a glimpse of me.
Maybe,
One day,
Our gaze will meet again.
Years gone by,
I still think of her as I fly.
Passing her orbit,
Wondering if she ever turns her face to the sky
Hoping to catch a glimpse of me.
Maybe,
One day,
Our gaze will meet again.
than a gleaming shooting-star
seen or unobserved
one's fate's to burn to nil or near
dust to some stardust to dust
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