Late Latin night

Even though you are still young at night,

Only the sound is ripe first

The guitar ringing in the distance,

I'm going through the time little by little

Like a fingertip touching the edge of a glass,

The rhythm is slow, draw a circle

No one is in a hurry

But no one can stop

The voice is low,

Half of the words melt into the air

It doesn't mean,

Only the temperature remains

For example, even if your name is called,

I don't know if it's me or the night

In such ambiguity,

Only the distance quietly narrows

I shouldn't have touched it,

Only the speed of the heartbeat will be aligned

The slowness of Latin is

I'm not late

"I'm removing it on purpose"

Slightly shift the timing of reason,

To catch up with instincts

So the sound is,

It always comes a little from behind

For that delay,

The body reacts on its own

The deeper the night,

Losing the boundary

What should have been between you and yourself,

It's melting before I know it

And the last thing left is,

Not words

However, it is shaking at the same speed

Only two rhythms