-he who born to be weak deserves no pity-

  The bright sun has given away its last afterglow, retreating to back of the curtain into a dreamless slumber.
  The pale moon has risen higher to the sky, spreading a magical trail over the stars.

  The forest has loaded with genius nature musicians, immersing in subtle yet peaceful melody.Amid the forest, there runs a winding brook, twinkling under the soothe moonlight.

Above the brook , there flies through a nightingale heading toward the yonder mountain , singing with delight.
  Moon! What will your beauty be , if night has not come to foiled your radiance? Brook! What will your diamond-like water be, if you have no moonlight to reflect? Musicians and nightingale! What will your felicity be if the beauty of brook and moon is gone?

  We are all sons of night who stand on a drifting little plank amid the raging ocean of devil of day. We clasp our convulsive hands so intensely to one another so that we wouldn’t be scared by the ghastly sea. We crouch on this broken island eroding by the deadly acid of devil water , drop by drop , piece by piece.

  We are all sailing on the ocean of despair , my friends. Our last paradise is dying. Our mother has abandoned us because of her desire for day. She will never sent us a ship to shield us from the raging tide. She will never show us the way to the land. Although we can still pick out her vague outline, we know that she is eluding us intentionally and will eventually vanish out of our sight.

  We are all abandonees, my friends, who loiter in the shrinking bubble of ancient fairy tale; who pretend to be blind to disasters so that they can derive pathetic solace from their poor imagination. But stop lying to yourself, friends. Face the truth that plank is about to be crushed by the monstrous tide of devil. Sit in peace and silence and give up floundering, for he who born to be weak deserves no pity.