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Ison
-
Recipe
Snowflakes
melt down：
this heart is tired of
wearing crowns.
Pierced coin
from a distant land,
may your void be filled with
wonder.
Downstairs in this cell
I'm brewing my spell.
Four hundred and eighty sec.
and then I'll hang it 'round my neck.
A pinch of
pink salt
to bring the gratitude hidden in
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teardrops.
A spit of
an old friend
'cause loneliness on this plane is
a nonsense, a nonsense.
Four words will set my charm:
a mutual frail thankful awe.
Four hundred and eighty sec.
and then I'll hang it 'round my neck.
oh Guardian, please take my gift
and open the gate for me.
Four hundred and eighty sec.
and now look, it's hanging down my neck.
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