REOL - YoiYoi Kokon (宵々古今) dalszöveg fordítás angol nyelvre

English (original)

Versions: #2
Come on in, peace has become
Time has arrived, a righteous reverie, all through night
To undergo change, there shan't be consternation
To be gulled without escape, I sternly refuse
 
Sing the little girls' nurseries, and you all will allure
Even as the villain lures the back of my hair
I shalt move forward
 
Crazes then atrophies, should this world be so lamented
The trusted one, is told, to be only, you
 
Rage in dances and jeers, drown in drinks and songs!
Matters to ponder about, are amiss
This world, mortal's world, - ruefully cursed -
Rings, the winter sandals - but, endeared
We cling on, blinded, cuts thousandfold
 
Sore, Sore, Sore, Sore!
 
Should you bewail the current - embellish the past, even so
Your spirit within - torrents the rivers of tears
That's just indomitable - Wherever should you lie,
To be brought, is you, to the ever-turning stage
 
Why, this overbearance of humanly woes
Self-indulgence be the world's principle?
A myriad's borne ideals - A mirage of idol statues
An answer for the commonly - Therein, lies none.
 
For us to wander into each other - truly once in a lifetime
Bitter and sweet, they are to overcome - marry me and hold this hand
 
Unlivable, this place, the ephemeral world, from it,
Hoist the flag - The dusk shall glimmer away
 
Go drunk and get high - since you sleep and forget
The past and the present, unaltered throughout, the
Fleeting world, mortal's world, - bewailingly lamented -
Always laughably rambunctious
Rustic and laughing, miraculously fateful
 
Sore, Sore, Sore, Sore!
 
The deepening spring, and the freezing winter, the days
Marked with the rising sun, every instant I will watch with you
The dyeing colors - To faraway beyond
Lies the clear azures gazed infront
 
Losing, Hana-ichi-monme - that yearning, yearning, yearning voice
Win and resent, buy and pick, and wail over its abruptness
Brewing tea, with the same leaves, such an unpalatable imitation
 
As of yet, our headway is only but half, perhaps?
At any point in time - your march is to step forward
 
Crazes then atrophies, should this world be so lamented
The trusted one, is told, to be only, you
 
Rage in dances and jeers, drown in drinks and songs!
Matters to ponder about, are amiss
This world, mortal's world, - ruefully cursed -
Rings, the winter sandals - but, endeared
We cling on, blinded, cuts thousandfold
 
Sore, Sore, Sore, Sore!
 
Should you bewail the current - embellish the past, even so
Your spirit within - torrents the rivers of tears
That's just indomitable - Wherever should you lie,
To be brought, is you, to the ever-turning stage
 
Why, this overbearance of directed passion
Self-indulgence be the world's principle?
Transference to the present past - Emboldened if a route,
A thing to be feared - therein, lies none.
 


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