As you be blown by tornado, 
would you blame the windmill? 
As you drown in a dark bluish river, 
could you point your finger to the spring?
Though the burning keeps blazing,
till when would you scold the scorching sun?

The ashes fall like snow,
the hurts keep bleeding,
the road leads to nowhere.

As though you are wandering,
forget not to keep faith.
There will be one.