Sung by Eason Chan
Dreams that you can't wake up from
Red threads of red under house arrest
All the excitement is left in the pain of fatigue
And then indifference
When I hugged you from the back
Expectation was her face
To say that it is really mocking
This is a very good idea, but I don't know how to do it. I don't really understand
I long for you to understand
Is happiness too light and heavy
Overuse doesn't itch and doesn't hurt
Rotten, red, hollow pupils
Finally hollowed out, finally with no end in sight
What you can't get is always in commotion
What you've been favored with is always insecure
The red of the roses is easy to hurt in your dreams.
Holding it in my hands but losing it in my fingers
And then it's gone
Red is a mole that burns in my heart
Red is as mediocre as mosquito blood
Time beautifies the only fluttering of the heart
And it also smooths out the excitement
When I hugged you from the back
When I looked forward to it, I was expecting to find her face
That's a real joke. Mockery
I don't really understand
I long for you to understand
Is happiness too light and heavy
Overused, it doesn't itch and doesn't hurt
Rotten and red, hollow pupils
Finally hollowed out, finally with a beginning but not an end
What you can't get is always in commotion
The ones who are favored are emboldened
The red rose, the easily hurtful dream
It's the only thing that can be done to make you happy. The red of roses, the dream of being easily hurt
Holding it in my hands but losing it in my fingers
And falling through
Is it too much to say that love is too heavy to bear
Overused, it doesn't itch, it doesn't hurt
Burning red, snaking through my heart
Finally frozen, finally, there's a beginning but not an end
Those who can't get it will always be in a state of flux
The ones who are favored will have no fear of it
But the ones who are favored will have no fear of it. The red of the rose, the dream of being wounded
Holding it in my hand but losing it in my fingers
The one who can't get it will always be in commotion
The one who is favored will always be in commotion
The red of the rose, the dream of being wounded
Holding it in my hand but losing it in my fingers
Again, the dream is empty
And then it's gone.