Rising under the first morning mist, I am a small bud of freedom. Come upon the labyrinth of winds, meet between hopes and life, I am a small bud of freedom. The morning dew which releasing all chain of past, I am a small bud of freedom.

The very breath itself is freedom, the flowing life is freedom, the silent cloud above the stillness is freedom – then the sky reach its’ end. Then again, I am a small bud of freedom.

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