MY RICE IS NOT STALE YET
I don't know why past food
Bringing back dreams again
Even though the shop is closed
Between the passage of time
Which I can never take back
Just a shadow of twilight
Inviting to be found
From the effort the sweat flows
Vague description of the way
Find a manufacturing recipe
Salty
Sweet, mixed
Plus the shrimp paste is a little spicy
Represents the emptiness of time
In the spaces of stale imagination
Ah never mind!
It doesn't taste as good as the shop
Just this result
To celebrate hope first