中文原文：「致那些被捏造的我們」
譯：Unk
Speechless always is cosmos.
In every present firm or loose
At countless intersections between dreams and reality
Within the aggregation of consciousness, sweet, bitter, then rotten
People cultivate boisterously
Their words are fewer gradually
In learning docility
They leave when the joy begins
Simultaneously we talk, with voice
Twisting our bodies and showing off our tongues
“Let’s record,” said we
Every moment is history, infinitely
Record until annihilation
Which is, I understand, burning
And the burnt. That kind of
Truth
Describing while described
Front and rear painted with colours
One flock impacts on the same flock
Before the one and only speechless Mother
We’re on the same team
Cosmos is on the same team
After comprehending the impossibility of leaving
I’ve written some letters
To us who are made up
We may burn or preserve them after read
Or authenticate, or refurbish, or hide
An accomplishment anyway
Then speechless continually
As cosmos.
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