Look, wind breeze through the Pacific, Ocean roars, storm forms, the story begins here. In that storm, the petrels streak through, Their arms are stretched, Like black lightening streaking through the sky. Storms are dangerous, and the lives of petrels are in the hand of wind, Some are dead, They fall into the ocean and are swallowed by it. Some are helped, Not by themselves, but by the ferries passing by. Opportunities are in the arms of petrels, But fate is always in the hand of storms. Even they are the black lightening, Crossing the storm is never amazing, How to cross the storm is what is astonishing. Be brave, Because the stories of petrels across the ocean will be recorded. Be relentless, Because the wind is blowing, The storm is forming, But the petrels are always fighting. The wind breezes through the Pacific, It brings the wave of brave petrels. Waves after waves, They are never dead. Look, wind breeze through the Pacific, Ocean roars, storm forms, the story begins here. Last second it was peaceful, Next second it is unmerciful. A boat travels on the ocean, A family sits on its dock. Last second is laughter with smile, Next second is roaring and yell. The last second laughter changes to next second effort, Or the last second peace changes to next second pieces. That wind can be breezing or can be ruthless destroying, The wind can bring lives or bring knives. The boat nods in the waves caused by that lives, Or be cut through into pieces by that knives. The breeze is singing its song, The storm is playing its rock, The boat is listening and dancing, The family is crying and panicking. Sit still, and listen to the storm, Although not in norm, it is speaking its hope in its unique form. Ease the frantic heart, Enjoy the “crazy” part. The wind is breezing through the Pacific, It brings the beautiful voice in the wild storm. | 