Looking into your eyes, I pray
Fly me to your paradise
Aura of borealis going abroad.
Burning pupils across Stanley Park
Fireworks beforehand sprinkling
high, running over adrenaline scream.
You’re not a Caucasian, then
Why fluent in English?
I was born with blood of White
What’s made of my dream?
Can never be any nightmare
because I’ve locked the Hell Gate.