(C) Insect of violin C-715

I hear only of the sound of the wind which shakes to the arista at night of autumn.

It is lonely , It is sad, It is lonely.

Solitude cannot be endured.

Even to him with the cellular phone

Only the sound of a free call conitinues.

I am solitary why .

To small insects which gather to the light

I speak like the friend.