waka of budouadana: eights

StrikeEight arrows arcingAcross the sky, their targetsAlready settled,A coordinated strikeThat allows no turning back.EndsEverything must end,The happy circle of friends,The team of workers,Its final task completed,Each of its eight cups drained dry.BoundBlindfolded and bound,In a jail of eight sharp swords,Feeling powerless,The young woman first acceptsThen overcomes her troubles.FlowSix wheels