Holding onto my spirit, it is rather a beautiful battle as the eye on my chest starts to close. It is still its purple figure since birth on the first day of its glory. At same time, I am falling into hatred and for which I couldn't save my sword anymore. I'm holding onto the thread on the cliff in my dark mind of imagination, it is soon expiring. Goddess of love save my tender heart from believing that time exists in dreaming: that my motivation will disappear one day. Does time truly sacrifice its beautiful angels?