the

alcoholic

air is inspiring

my Flurries to open

up the summer season

with their murmuring

singing. Everybody is

getting intoxicated by the whirling

wind and siren-singing of my Flurries. But they

ruined my party. My little soreheads are just about to

complain about my functioning as a worthless God of Wind,

which in fact I am indeed: I am a Fire-god in prison.

Their siren-song is about the revealing of their

prophecies of the