Sunday, this name is like a seed, buried in the land of Star Dome Railway,
waiting for the nourishment of rain and dew and the tempering of time.

Fifteen pieces of thought fragments are fine sand in the soil,
carrying the desire for growth and unspeakable pain;
Fifteen pieces of impression remnants, like rice leaves wrinkled by the wind,
carrying memories and secret stories;
Fifteen pieces of desire broken mirrors are broken mirrors, reflecting the moonlight of the countryside at night.
Sixty-five pieces of a chord illusion, like the sound of gongs and drums coming from afar,
stirring the rhythm deep in the soul.
Three hundred and eighty thousand credit points are rivers of sweat, blood and tears.

The trace material is the tangled roots in the countryside.
The twelve remnants of the same wish are the songs floating in the village;
The forty-one fragments of thoughts are the nutrients of the land;
The fifty-eight fragments of desires are the traces of struggle;
The fifty-six fragments of impressions are the precipitation of years.
The cloud notes, the sky bars, and the music from the sky are like the wind blowing through the fields, carrying the breath of hope and harvest.
Three million credit points are the foundation of the countryside, solid and heavy.

The skill material is the hands working in the fields,
The fragments of thoughts, the cloud notes, and the sky bars,
Carefully cultivating the growing fields of Sunday.
The light cone “returning to the earth” is a dream of flying,
Shutting between the soil and the stars, shining with the light of nostalgia.

Treabar is the country road leading to the distance,
Providing safe guidance and warm companionship for dream chasers.

Sunday’s growth is a rural poem,
slowly unfolding in the interweaving of soil and starlight,
running towards the bright distance with tenacity and warmth.