A keresés eredménye oldal 1

World Resolution

From a top-down perspective, colors look like laws of the world.
If you become the party of interest, staring makes it look like crude grafitti.
Impossible things have happened more times than I can count. All while you were alive.
Each time, you cast your eyes down and pretended it didn't happen. Now, at last you've forgotten.
 
Both tragedies and comedies have the same capacity.
While listening to BGM at several mega units, I'm clinging to life.
 
Begging the broken world in tears, as expected we didn't have any of it.
Human talent too was the resolution of a world like that.
Today too, we pushed our way through the cruel overcrowding, exhausted from the things we must do.
The resolution of the world matches the proof of our existence we leave behind.
Your point of view. My point of view. What do you see?
 
Deceiving and being deceived, when you get fed up and plug your ears
I understand how you feel. But because of that we will part for life.
It's already too late now. Good and evil and such. More importantly, we have to reconnect them.
Burnt out light. You need light at night, if nothing else.
 
There's a storm outside, it's disastrous but you
skate so defensively and laugh. You fight against it.
 
At that place only for you, don't close your eyes and look at it.
Each and every point of view restitched together is the new resolution of the world.
Clinging to the success of deceit once ago, what they've set their sights on tomorrow
is just a rerun of the past anyway. That's their resolution.
Today's point of view. The past's point of view. What do you see?
 
Our every day ends in just a moment. That emptiness will haunt you for life.
Start from fearing the end, because we will likely forget.
Live life and death with daily joys and music at your side.
Your cells came from the edge of space, a line connecting directly to my corpse.
You took my hand while crying, your hand that was already no longer.
My hand that hadn't ended yet is starting your hand from here on out.
 
Begging the broken world in tears, even if I go crazy I'll sing.
The overtone of speculation and the resolution of the world resounding together.
I came to say I wanted to see you, it's not a period here but a comma.
If you connect that pain and regret it forms the resolution of the world.
What do you see? What do you see? What do you see?
 

Playtime's Over Now.

Today's come to nothing. It's time to head back now.
Leaving the messy room for one last pint on the deck.
You're still keeping that young wind on the cuff of your shirt.
I softly stroke the horizon on which morning will surely come before long.
Playtime's over now.
 
The pattern on the rug is so strange. With pizza sauce and beer on it.
I've decided to rewrite our lives that are so dirtied at times.
I understand getting mad at our slovenly politicians, but
I'll need you to pay me back for the TV cracked by a wine bottle.
Playtime's over now.
 
At times, I feel uneasy about having lost myself. Antidepressants, warmth of a hand, welfare,
notice of absence and absence of self. Sandstorm, apprehension, now deceased. 17 years old.
Playtime's over now.
 
Leafing through Swann's Way. Condom in the trash can.
Friend sleeping in the toilet. Wait, no, who are you again?
I can go however far, but with this face that says I don't dare to.
To sit down in this world is to have a drink with tedium.
Playtime's over now.
 
In one of our hands, we lost an easy game.
See, we dropped it just now. Just like a car key.
'Stop it, you'll die!' You say, like it's funny.
'Stop it, youll die!' It's true. It's true.
 
At times, I feel uneasy about having lost myself. A sunny weekend, alcohol, serotonin,
deep sleep and dark seafloor. Sandstorm, apprehension, now deceased. 17 years old.
Playtime's over now.
 
Only a headache left by wild passion. A dream from some time ago, dried up in midsummer.
Scattered aspirations and recklessness. A smile and defenselessly catering to you.
What is correct is sometimes hysteria. The rotting railroad ties of the track.
The smell of the dampened soil in May. Rather than stepping on shadows, it's more like shadows stepped on.
 
When we've finished cleaning up, when morning has come,
I wonder where we'll go.
You mumble, about that.. About that,
'We're each going back to our own lives.'
 
Playtime's over now.
 

The Eclosion of the Sun

The cluster of silvergrass beckons, as if it has gone mad.
The sunlight is tinged red. Summer exposes things that can't be photographed.
That is, the soon to arrive eclosion of the sun.
 
Sewing life as a state onto a bonnet,
I transport my body along a white line someone has drawn.
 
Depression clining to the scenery. At that moment my memories cramped.
 
I cut my finger on a seashell buried in the desert.
It's coming again today. A sad omen of a dark color.
It's finally here, the eclosion of the sun.
But, only on one side was there a wing missing.
 
If it's seasons, they've gone and left just now.
They've left this dull song behind.
We were separated so far from each other,
a distance so far we'll never make it back again.
 
I've given up on it floating in the sky.
The sun lit up the city.
Today, when I stopped starting anything--
I acted like it was just any other day.
 

Rita

Ha szakítunk, hát jól van.
Visszaadom minden kölcsönkért dolgod.
A karórád, a CD-d, a menetjegy árát. Mindent.
Kivéve a kedvességed.
 
A vasútsínek mellett magányosan sétálva az éjjel,
A villanylámpák fénye két árnyékot szórt a földre,
És az egyik a tiéd volt, aminek én felettébb örültem.
De a lámpa kialudt és újra egyedül voltam.
 
Tudhattam volna,hogy a dolgok nem változnak,
De miattad mégis próbáltam hinni benne.
És olyan voltál mint egy szélhámos, vagy még inkább mint egy bűvész,
Nemde, Rita?
 
Nem fogok sírni az emberek után, ha még itt vannak mellettem.
Nem fogok sírni a dolgokért, amik nem törtek össze.
Jól vagyok. Még ha hazugság is, ezt fogom mondani nekik.
És mivel ezek csak szavak, majd hinni fognak nekem.
 
És a szobánkban néma csend honol,
kivéve a TV-ből kiszűrődő hangokat.
Jó lenne ha látnád az érzéseim.
Várj, mégsem akarom ezt, mert túl kegyetlen lenne.
 
Te, aki mindig csak mások üdvéért akartál élni,
És én, aki mindig csak a sajátjáért.
Mint a csikorgó sebességváltó, ami nem akarja bevenni a fokozatot.
Ilyen volt a nevetésünk is.
 
Választani egy újat,
Azt jelenti, hogy megválsz a régitől.
Ha így van, hát rendben. Szép lassan parkolópályára kerültem.
Ugye, Rita?
 
És nem fogsz magadért sírdogálni,
Még ha nehéz idők is járnak.
Akkor hogy is van az hogy most itt sírsz?
És hogy lehet az, hogy nem én sírok először?
 
Mindig csak magammal néztem szembe,
Ahelyett hogy valaha is szembe néztem volna más dolgokkal.
És ha nem választom meg jól a szavaimat, akkor egyértelmű,
Hogy valakinek fájdalmat fogok okozni.
 
És mindig a múlton rágódtam,
Ahelyett, hogy szembe néztem volna a jelennel.
Ha mindig csak hátrafelé nézek,
Akkor tutira meg fogok botlani.
 
És már nem fogok sírni az emberek után, ha itt vannak mellettem.
Most már értem. És ezért nem fogok már csak magamért élni.
Meg akarok másokat nevettetni,
Pont ahogy te is tetted.
 
Nem fogok sírni az elfelejtett múlton.
Nem fogok sírni a jövőn,
És a veled együtt nevetések már a múlté.
És az élet megy tovább, ahogy annak lennie kell.
 

Rita

Ha szakítunk, hát jól van.
Visszaadom minden kölcsönkért dolgod.
A karórád, a CD-d, a menetjegy árát. Mindent.
Kivéve a kedvességed.
 
A vasútsínek mellett magányosan sétálva az éjjel,
A villanylámpák fénye két árnyékot szórt a földre,
És az egyik a tiéd volt, aminek én felettébb örültem.
De a lámpa kialudt és újra egyedül voltam.
 
Tudhattam volna,hogy a dolgok nem változnak,
De miattad mégis próbáltam hinni benne.
És olyan voltál mint egy szélhámos, vagy még inkább mint egy bűvész,
Nemde, Rita?
 
Nem fogok sírni az emberek után, ha még itt vannak mellettem.
Nem fogok sírni a dolgokért, amik nem törtek össze.
Jól vagyok. Még ha hazugság is, ezt fogom mondani nekik.
És mivel ezek csak szavak, majd hinni fognak nekem.
 
És a szobánkban néma csend honol,
kivéve a TV-ből kiszűrődő hangokat.
Jó lenne ha látnád az érzéseim.
Várj, mégsem akarom ezt, mert túl kegyetlen lenne.
 
Te, aki mindig csak mások üdvéért akartál élni,
És én, aki mindig csak a sajátjáért.
Mint a csikorgó sebességváltó, ami nem akarja bevenni a fokozatot.
Ilyen volt a nevetésünk is.
 
Választani egy újat,
Azt jelenti, hogy megválsz a régitől.
Ha így van, hát rendben. Szép lassan parkolópályára kerültem.
Ugye, Rita?
 
És nem fogsz magadért sírdogálni,
Még ha nehéz idők is járnak.
Akkor hogy is van az hogy most itt sírsz?
És hogy lehet az, hogy nem én sírok először?
 
Mindig csak magammal néztem szembe,
Ahelyett hogy valaha is szembe néztem volna más dolgokkal.
És ha nem választom meg jól a szavaimat, akkor egyértelmű,
Hogy valakinek fájdalmat fogok okozni.
 
És mindig a múlton rágódtam,
Ahelyett, hogy szembe néztem volna a jelennel.
Ha mindig csak hátrafelé nézek,
Akkor tutira meg fogok botlani.
 
És már nem fogok sírni az emberek után, ha itt vannak mellettem.
Most már értem. És ezért nem fogok már csak magamért élni.
Meg akarok másokat nevettetni,
Pont ahogy te is tetted.
 
Nem fogok sírni az elfelejtett múlton.
Nem fogok sírni a jövőn,
És a veled együtt nevetések már a múlté.
És az élet megy tovább, ahogy annak lennie kell.
 

Neked

Töröld le könnyeidet, és nyugodtan nevesd csak ki a múltunkat.
 
Nincs már hová mennem, ezért a gondolataimban rejtőzök el,
De mikor rájövök, hogy a számomra fontos emberek mosolyogva várnak rám ott, már tudom, hogy ez csak képzelgés, és ettől zavarba jövök.
Ócskának éreztem és elpusztítottam, majd mégis sírásban törtem ki,
És a könnyeim színesen csillogtak mint a benzinnel szennyezett csatornavíz.
 
Mi okoz neked boldogságot? És vajon ez jó vagy rossz dolog?
Te vagy az egyetlen aki válaszolhat ezekre a kérdésekre, ne hagyd hogy agyon nyomjanak a súlyukkal.
Ha szembe akarsz nézni magaddal, akkor először is bocsáss meg magadnak.
Nehéz mindig tökéletesnek lenni, ezért ne csüggedj ha mások kinevetnek ezért.
 
Mit tartogat a jövő? Válaszolj Uram!
 
Töröld le könnyeidet, és nyugodtan nevesd csak ki a múltunkat,
Szenvedésed oka, hogy nem adod fel, és még mindig küzdesz, nemde?
És ha a válasz igen, akkor sem hibáztathat érte senki.
 
Nem csináltam egész nap semmit,
Csak bámultam a TV-t.
És mikor láttam hogy mindenki nevet a műsorban, már nem tudtam mosolyogni,
És azon az álmatlan éjszakán volt időm átgondolni az életem,
Tehetetlenségemben csak a hajamba tudtam túrni, de ennek ellenére nem bántam meg azokat a napokat.
 
A két kezemmel építem fel a jövőmet Istenem!
 
Töröld le könnyeidet, és nyugodtan nevesd csak ki a múltunkat,
Szenvedésed oka, hogy nem adod fel, és még mindig küzdesz, nemde?
És ha a válasz igen, akkor sem hibáztathat érte senki.
 
Habár az életed baklövések gyűjteménye,
Rakjuk csak halomba őket, mint gyermek az építőkockáit,
És ess el ahogy csak akarsz, és állj fel aztán a magad módján,
Semmi sem kötelező, semmi sincs kőbe vésve.
 
Töröld le könnyeidet, és nyugodtan nevesd csak ki a múltunkat,
Szenvedésed oka, hogy nem adod fel, és még mindig küzdesz, nemde?
És ha a válasz igen, akkor sem hibáztathat érte senki.
 

Neked

Töröld le könnyeidet, és nyugodtan nevesd csak ki a múltunkat.
 
Nincs már hová mennem, ezért a gondolataimban rejtőzök el,
De mikor rájövök, hogy a számomra fontos emberek mosolyogva várnak rám ott, már tudom, hogy ez csak képzelgés, és ettől zavarba jövök.
Ócskának éreztem és elpusztítottam, majd mégis sírásban törtem ki,
És a könnyeim színesen csillogtak mint a benzinnel szennyezett csatornavíz.
 
Mi okoz neked boldogságot? És vajon ez jó vagy rossz dolog?
Te vagy az egyetlen aki válaszolhat ezekre a kérdésekre, ne hagyd hogy agyon nyomjanak a súlyukkal.
Ha szembe akarsz nézni magaddal, akkor először is bocsáss meg magadnak.
Nehéz mindig tökéletesnek lenni, ezért ne csüggedj ha mások kinevetnek ezért.
 
Mit tartogat a jövő? Válaszolj Uram!
 
Töröld le könnyeidet, és nyugodtan nevesd csak ki a múltunkat,
Szenvedésed oka, hogy nem adod fel, és még mindig küzdesz, nemde?
És ha a válasz igen, akkor sem hibáztathat érte senki.
 
Nem csináltam egész nap semmit,
Csak bámultam a TV-t.
És mikor láttam hogy mindenki nevet a műsorban, már nem tudtam mosolyogni,
És azon az álmatlan éjszakán volt időm átgondolni az életem,
Tehetetlenségemben csak a hajamba tudtam túrni, de ennek ellenére nem bántam meg azokat a napokat.
 
A két kezemmel építem fel a jövőmet Istenem!
 
Töröld le könnyeidet, és nyugodtan nevesd csak ki a múltunkat,
Szenvedésed oka, hogy nem adod fel, és még mindig küzdesz, nemde?
És ha a válasz igen, akkor sem hibáztathat érte senki.
 
Habár az életed baklövések gyűjteménye,
Rakjuk csak halomba őket, mint gyermek az építőkockáit,
És ess el ahogy csak akarsz, és állj fel aztán a magad módján,
Semmi sem kötelező, semmi sincs kőbe vésve.
 
Töröld le könnyeidet, és nyugodtan nevesd csak ki a múltunkat,
Szenvedésed oka, hogy nem adod fel, és még mindig küzdesz, nemde?
És ha a válasz igen, akkor sem hibáztathat érte senki.
 

Word Processor

Versions: #1
Caught in a blackout membrane.
Liberation movement for the
sensitivity that'd severed all brain activity, path to recapture.
The consequent solitary armed uprising.
 
With regards to whether to live or die,
counting backwards from the end, it's a suburban memento mori.
An alley of shuttered down shops, iron bridge on the outskirts of the city,
the spirits of our ancestors always stand watch.
 
My secondhand car keeps making a hundred thousand kilometers
worth of round trips on a highway from each word to the next.
If I keep nursing my dreams unfulfilled at the beach,
then even those will finally be seen through to the end.
 
If you are to bury my bones, then let it be in my hometown.
But the final resting place of my words is right here.
Ten years later, a hundred years later,
I'm confident that they're seeds that will bud somehow or another.
 
I sing the songs we were told not to sing.
I scream the words we were told not to speak.
It must be a passion strong enough to burn
those tears of defeat we once shed.
I glared at tomorrow as if to say 'Like I'd let it end here,'
and desperately shot down my impulse of annoyance.
Without calling it hope, what is it to be called?
 
Reality and fantasy weigh equally
and become a lead downpour. From the hole it opened in that chest
I can see your faded thing called tomorrow.
 
The word processor that kept speaking in mathematical formulas.
Even the shortest little line ripped out and thrown away,
now that some years have passed
at last it bores into even rock-like despair.
 
I sing the songs we were told not to sing.
I scream the words we were told not to speak.
It must be a passion strong enough to burn
those tears of defeat we once shed.
 
I glared at tomorrow as if to say 'Like I'd let it end here,'
and desperately shot down my impulse of annoyance.
Without calling it hope, what is it to be called?
 
I sing the songs we were told not to sing. My head spins.
 

Don't Leave Me Even a Single Sorrow

Versions: #1
The steam whistle blows so curtly.
'We're here already,' says the one journeying.
If I cry, it's painful. If I laugh, even moreso.
So don't leave me even a single sorrow.
 
Parting with your family, separating from your friend.
'Wherever I live, I will be me.'
You had best stop thinking like that.
Call yourself the wheel tracks of your life.
 
I loathe all these sad things,
and yet for us, it's only ever goodbyes.
Don't go anywhere,
live in this town forever.
Adding years on until we die,
I want us to live life laughing.
 
If you can, get out quietly please.
And don't leave me even a single sorrow.
 
The one journeying has such little baggage.
Such little homesickness and so few unforgettable memories too,
because he leaves everything behind at the starting station.
Aomori station is littered with sentiments.
 
'A dream is a dream,' he bragged.
But someone said that a dream is one because it's granted.
Don't lend an ear to those who've realized their dreams.
If it's your dream, then dream it.
 
I loathe all these painful things,
and yet we are only ever fighting.
Don't go anywhere,
live in this town forever.
Adding years on until we die,
I want us to live life laughing.
 
If you can, get out quietly please.
And don't leave me even a single sorrow.
 
You fighters, heal your wounds.
You must not fall mid-battle.
You say 'This life isn't so precious,'
but someone who holds you dear is right here.
 
The road before you is long, but the end will come quickly.
It's only from when you start hurrying that everything begins.
I don't know what'll happen from now on.
That's everything that I wanted to say.
 
I loathe all these lonesome things,
and yet we are only ever setting out on our journeys.
Don't go anywhere,
live in this town forever.
Adding years on until we die,
I want us to live life laughing.
 
The steam whistle is blowing, so I'm going to go too.
Don't leave me even a single sorrow.
Don't leave me even a single sorrow.
 

Fish Bowl

Versions: #1
The tracks in the railyard
creak like an asthmatic.
They sense that rain is close.
 
In the parking lot of a shopping mall,
Haru had sat on a bench
waiting for the ATM to open.
The sunrays were as they had been. At a wearisome volume,
jazz plays like it's from a music box.
Because it's aware that it has come to suit this town.
It's singing as much as it can.
 
We were filled with impatience.
Because we live in a fish bowl.
We were filled with fear.
Because we live in a smoke room.
 
We are neither impatient for nor fear today ending.
A new slate for a single day,
like it was traced by eye.
And we don't even stifle our yawns.
 
Would someone please cut the power to the air pump?
If not, then I'll do it.
 
Look, these are the edges of the world.
Shuttered down storefronts, orbital expressway Route 7.
The stadium rock flowing from the local radio
plays an exaggerated engine roar and was caught in a speedtrap.
 
The words 'Boredom isn't so bad'
can only be said after you've known something other than boredom.
And the signboard at the pachinko parlor,
that's the edge of our world.
 

Spirits

Versions: #1
Hanging up the fantasies of his bygone days,
a sentimental teenager passes by a shadow on his way out.
 
His coat is wrapped around someone long-departed, and now the winds are all that lie ahead.
With frigid fingertips, he opens the door, leaves behind his lingering affection, and heads into town.
Downtown, he sees familiar faces and hears silent laughter. The city is deafeningly quiet.
His happiness recedes into the periphery of his awareness, as he trades it away for cheap pleasures.
He's been nursing all his small regrets for long enough to be sick of it,
and when he returns to his one-bedroom apartment, the apathetic setting sun
stirs all these feelings together, and he starts to see things unseen.
 
Spirits. Nightfall. Voicemails. An empty apartment.
 

Convenience Store Umbrella

Versions: #1
The convenience store umbrella,
drenched in 365 days of scornful laughter, does not return to the earth.
It isn't trash, nor is it a possession.
It isn't useful, nor does it get in the way.
In the afternoon, it's pecked at by crows.
At night, it scowls at the constellations.
 
The crucified trees by the road say to 'Look.'
I went with it, and in the far off sky I looked up at--
winter clouds, and a ballistic missile flying at 3 kilometers a second.
 
'The winter rain is so cold,' I whisper,
and close my eyes again.
 

Isaac

Isaac, one carton of nervous.
Glee and ache, less than a step apart.
Factories, black smoke the campus.
Langston, just a little puff of drama.
 
A well-dressed woman massaged the back of a Shinagawa Station congested and coughing.
In the crouching streets one early morning,
Another day for criminals who for their kind are hunting, jam-packed with the noise of peepers, experts, and speculating.
'You villains don't have the guts to look each other in the eye,' the least self-aware of them all is shouting.
Many things mistaken for being upstanding. Corrupting delusion,
Obituaries in autumn, the discharge of a gun,
The first snow that's on the run from Touhoku in December.
 
Isaac, one carton of nervous.
Glee and ache, less than a step apart.
Factories, black smoke the campus.
Langston, just a little puff of drama.
 
If someone always feels pain whenever they hurt someone else, that pain will lead to their death.
You might even say that kindness is a disease.
Whenever someone spits on the ground, every last one of us will step on it as we move forward.
In blizzards or stormy trails, even if there's no light before our sails.
So desperate that we'll break our body, grasp death and insanity.
Like a mine caved-in, humanism burying people within.
Hope will one day disappear. But only when breath leaves our bodies.
 
Isaac, one carton of nervous.
Glee and ache, less than a step apart.
Factories, black smoke the campus.
Langston, just a little puff of drama.
 

If You Sing to the Sky

Versions: #2
Cut through fact or fiction, and look up to the heavens, the eternity that flew away
If you sing to the sky, pay no heed to regrets.
Inevitable, inevitable, a future which will surely come to pass
For that reason, claw onward!
 
A mirage, paddling through a river of tears for so many years
Goodbye, I must go!
No matter what you lose,
The unforgotten bitterness and shame
Will adorn your heart
 
Cut through fact or fiction, and look up to the heavens, the eternity that flew away
If you sing to the sky, pay no heed to regrets.
Inevitable, inevitable, too bright to break off from,
To that future, claw onward!
 
Cherished desires can't be achieved without hurting someone
The ideals you don't mind losing will be your signpost
Laugh if you must, take the scorn with you too
 
Your voice that day, what you wanted to say, what you couldn't say
If you sing to the sky, shake free from your regrets.
Inevitable, inevitable, in throwing away, you carried too much
For that reason, claw onward!
 
Anguish becomes a sudden downpour.
The quagmire of scorn clings to your leg, not letting you go
Confined within a rain cloud
The isolated sky
Flight from the captured darkness
The things I gripped slipped out immediately.
The things I believed passed away too quickly.
And yet, with just this warmth they left behind,
This life is worth living.
Emerging from the muddy stream of disappointment
A streak of light shining from the dull, cloudy sky
By then, the rain had already lifted.
 
Cut through fact or fiction, and look up to the heavens, the eternity that flew away
If you sing to the sky,
Your voice that day crying something, what you wanted to say, what you couldn't say
If you sing to the sky, go along with your regrets.
Inevitable, inevitable, in ending, you lost too much
For that reason, claw onward!
Finite, finite, our slim remaining future
For that reason, claw onward!
 

Crushed Beneath an Empty Sky 空っぽの空に潰される

Versions: #6
I collected too many letters that I had to get rid of my own belongings.
 
Just as I finally start to feel satisfied, the truth is it feels empty again.
 
''It's better to have more money'', ''It's better to have more friends'',
 
''It's better to have more peace of mind'' - what is ''happiness'' in the end?
 
We spell ''frantic (必死)'' as ''certain (必) of death (死)'', we spell ''dazed (夢中)'' as ''inside (中) of a dream (夢)''.
 
And, right now, frantic and dazed, we're running through the seasons.
 
Our injuries wouldn't stop growing, but we had friends who could laugh and say, ''It hurts!''
 
But don't envy your past self - that person's only an imaginary rival.
 
If you're happy, you should laugh, right? When you're sad, you should cry, right?
 
So what should I do when I feel so empty? Tell me! Tell me!
 
These curt seasons come one after another, saying goodbye without any reluctance.
 
And on top of that, what should I even look forward to? Tell me! Tell me!
 
I'm crushed beneath this empty, empty, empty sky.
 
In the end, ''humans beings'' seem to have one or two things missing.
 
Do you think we're lacking something? Do you think we're in need of something?
 
I only have as little baggage as I need, and for me that's more than enough.
 
So let's see if I can run again. Let's see if I can run, frantic and dazed.
 
Today comes to an end, and another today comes around. I can't go anywhere as they stream past, but when I said I hate the things I hate, I've finally washed ashore at this ''today''.
 
That's why today is an anniversary: the anniversary of when I finally took a stand.
 
But there's still just one problem: today feels completely empty.
 
If you're happy, you should laugh, right? When you're sad, you should cry, right?
 
So what should I do when I feel so empty? Tell me! Tell me!
 
The people and things we loved abruptly disappear, saying goodbye without any reluctance.
 
And on top of that, what should I even look forward to? Tell me! Tell me!
 
I'm crushed beneath this empty, empty, empty sky.
 
Would things get easier if I complained? Would things get easier if I did nothing but cry?
 
Does it feel nice to say ''I want to die''? Do I even want to take another step from here?
 
I left something behind somewhere, in a classroom or maybe back in the womb.
 
''Happiness'' must be learning to love your permanent flaws.
 
If you're happy, you should laugh, right? When you're sad, you should cry, right?
 
So what should I do when I feel so empty? Tell me! Tell me!
 
I came all this way from a dark place, only to return back to another dark place.
 
But in that time, what can I even do? Tell me! Tell me!
 
I'm crushed beneath this empty, empty, empty sky.
 

amazarashi - Sayonara gokko さよならごっこ (Pretending to Say Goodbye)

Melancholy scatters in the wind and casts a shadow where it gathers.
 
Our footsteps incessantly remind us of our impermanence, and I get so lost when I peer into the depth of your eyes.
 
We used to have hopes, right? About what lies ahead?
 
The reason we joke and laugh is that the road we travel is so dark, and I guess it's our job to turn on the lights.
 
I'm all to familiar with pretending to say goodbye, but I still broke into tears as I waved farewell.
 
This deep red sadness of ours gets darker, and darker, and then becomes night.
 
Even if it's inevitable that tomorrow will come around, I didn't ever say that I wanted to live for it.
 
Even though I'm better off quitting, I still keep on having dreams of the future. Of the future. And it's all your fault.
 
All the things we need to accomplish are hanging from the crescent moon.
 
Even wandering the roads at the night, your figure radiates reassurance.
 
It takes time to trust - especially when it's trusting another person.
 
But if we're on the same road, there's no reason to stay distant either.
 
When all's said and done, if I'm going to share something, then I'll need someone to share it with, and I'll need myself too.
 
I'm all to familiar with pretending to say goodbye, but I still broke into tears as I waved farewell.
 
This deep red sadness of ours gets darker, and darker, and then becomes night.
 
If love was there from the very beginning, we never checked to be sure.
 
Destiny takes us along to meet the most unexpected people, and they leave a lasting impression in the depths of our hearts.
 
If there's hardship, we can bear it. If there's pain, we can share it.
 
But I couldn't shoulder your burdens all the way up to your fated destination.
 
Farewells are always hard, no matter how many times I've done them, so we're only pretending to part ways. This is just a goodbye game.
 
It's a game where I trick myself by saying ''I'm sure we'll meet again.''
 
''I'm sure we'll meet again.''
 
I'm all too familiar with pretending to say goodbye, but I still broke into tears as I waved farewell.
 
These deep red lies of ours they dampen, and dampen, and then morning arrives.
 
I guess the fact that we've grown apart means that we were united at one point.
 
If we called it ''giving up'', then I'd feel guilty doing it.
 
But it's fate. It's fate. That's what you called it.
 

amazarashi - Monster バケモノ

Versions: #3
He was a monster. A beast that feeds off lies.
 
I met him in the park, like an abandoned dog on a Monday morning.
 
Amidst the dew-coated morning glories, collapsed beneath the midsummer sun, he was gasping, and he looked at me with frightened eyes.
 
When I stroked his patchy fur, his mouth twitched, in spite of his starved body.
 
Perhaps out of pity, or sympathy, or something else entirely, I thought, ''Maybe I should give him one of my lies''
 
Like how even though right now I want to disappear, I'm pretending that I don't.
 
Or right in front of my family, ''I always leave for school right on time'', and when I get home, I'll say ''Today was a fun day, too'' - lying about that.
 
''Eat these up, little monster. You seem to be enjoying them plenty, aren't you?''
 
He was a monster. A beast that feeds off lies.
 
After I filled his stomach, he took a liking to me, and grew right before my eyes.
 
Me, an outcast. The bridge where I jumped.
 
The window of a hospital room. My sobbing mother. The evening glow in a grove of trees.
 
A greedy expression showed on his face, and as time went on, his body grew fatter.
 
Since he keeps pestering me more and more for my next lie, I guess I'll give him another one, shall I?
 
Though the truth was just that I screwed up at killing myself, I lied about it.
 
Right in front of my family, timidly smiling, ''I was so lucky to have survived.''
 
And so now today, just as easy as breathing, I tell lies.
 
''Eat these up, little monster. You've grown plenty big, haven't you?''
 
And now the monster has grown even taller than I am.
 
Since I'm just a pile of lies, won't he eat me up once and for all?
 
''Living was so hard! It was painful, and I couldn't take it anymore! But it would have been the most painful to have other people think that I was suffering!''
 
When I finally screamed out what I really felt, the monster shrivelled before my very eyes.
 
But hey, I'm still hiding some lies - lies that even I fall for.
 
Even though all I want is to live happily even after, I keep telling these lies.
 
If they're trifling delusions meant to fill the gap between our ideals and our reality, then maybe lies are inevitable for us, being so weak.
 
And now today, everyone out there is telling lies.
 
''Eat those up.'' Don't we all have two sides to us: the real thing, and the shadow lurking behind.
 
He's a monster. A beast that feeds on lies.
 
One by one, each and every one of us hides him behind our backs.
 
And that secret, the swelling that we try to cover up, is like a shadow that looms behind you. It's pretty big, isn't it?
 

amazarashi - Untitled 無題 (Mudai)

Versions: #2
amazarashi - Untitled
 
On the first floor of a wooden apartment, he was absorbed in painting pictures.
 
He wanted to paint in his own way. He wanted to depict the world around him.
 
From a young age he loved to draw, since everyone praised him for it.
 
But these days the only person who praises him is his girlfriend living with him.
 
But he was happy with that. Even though their daily routines kept them apart, he treasured the letters she would leave behind on cherry blossom themed stationery.
 
Before he knew it, dawn had broken. Before he knew it, the day had passed.
 
Before he knew it, winter had ended. And that day, he sold his first painting.
 
Their circumstances were already starting to change.
 
In the following month he sold all his paintings.
 
The world around them kept on changing.
 
Everyone lauded his paintings.
 
His girlfriend, looking so happy, said, ''I was right to have believed in you.''
 
''I was right.''
 
Sometimes he received letters of appreciation from the buyers of his paintings.
 
He didn't feel very appreciated, but he didn't feel hated either.
 
He was delighted by all the treasures that began to pile up in that small room.
 
He hoped that things would stay this way forever.
 
He grew to like painting more and more.
 
He wanted to paint more magnificent paintings.
 
He wanted to paint in his own way. He wanted to depict deeper truths.
 
He completed his masterpiece. Even his girlfriend smiled and said, ''It's wonderful, isn't it?''
 
It was a painting of true human nature, shameful enough to make anyone avert their eyes.
 
But everyone scowled at his painting.
 
People left like the tide was dragging them away.
 
The world around them kept on changing.
 
People derided him, calling him talentless.
 
The arguing grew, and his girlfriend finally left him.
 
''I guess I was wrong to have believed in you.''
 
''I guess I was wrong.''
 
On the first floor of a wooden apartment, even now he's still painting pictures.
 
He wanted to paint in his own way. Ultimately, he wanted to depict his emptiness.
 
From a young age he loved to draw, but at this point he no longer remembers the reason.
 
There's nobody around who praises him anymore.
 
He no longer even gives names to the paintings that keep piling up.
 
Many months must have gone by without him realizing, but that day, he sold a single painting for the first time in a while.
 
The world around him kept on changing.
 
A letter arrived from the buyer - a single sentence on cherry blossom themed stationery: ''I was right to have believed in you.''
 
''I was right.''
 
''I was right to have believed in you.''
 
''I was right.''
 
''I was right to have believed in you.''
 
''I was right.''