Muse: Morning in the rain season


Here has become something else without much of the sun
The wind takes her toil, she dances about with no care

When the South forge towards the cold rainy season

The queer climate of the evening is seen in the morning

The mildness, softness of the wind makes all, everything cold,

Even when the sun rise, her warmth is little, insignificant

Overshadowed by the icy cold, a very strong reminder

Of strange tales of wild cold places; Utopia, some vampire land

Yet this early morning was just being born,

And a lot have not been seen, for the day is young