We join our hands together in the shape of a lotus flower
And pile our remaining wounds onto the swastika
This is how we feel
That thing called seriousness...
The color we want to spill on these monochromatic ink drawing-like days
Is the colorlessness of sweet honey that someone else has
This thing that we truly desire
Is indeed such a thing...
The end of this blood
Has passed through this generation's chaotic times
Because we were born
To advance in the face of death
We'll invade them wherever they are
Before they can invade you
Subjecting you to slow torture
And tearing your fangs out
A poet from Shouwa era has probably sung
"You must not die yet!"
As those beautiful tears
Remain not understood...
They face their guns' muzzles towards the sky
As they measure nonsense with the emptiness of a flightless hawk's wings
This blue sky continues to be defiled by youth...
We don't want to live
Like livestock
Or as just another person of a crowd
In a nation branded with foolishness
We'll steal from them as many times as you want
And you shall get what you want
Before you undergo a gentle castration
On a bed of mud
Some honorable men have probably said once
"Come now and fight without stopping!"
But what is it
That we should do to our enemies...?
We'll invade them wherever they are
And raid this era
So that we are never ever distracted
By the freedom of this prison
A writer from the Shouwa era has probably written
"I will get my revenge!"
But this anger
Is not held by a god, but by oneself
Is not held by a god, but by me...
And pile our remaining wounds onto the swastika
This is how we feel
That thing called seriousness...
The color we want to spill on these monochromatic ink drawing-like days
Is the colorlessness of sweet honey that someone else has
This thing that we truly desire
Is indeed such a thing...
The end of this blood
Has passed through this generation's chaotic times
Because we were born
To advance in the face of death
We'll invade them wherever they are
Before they can invade you
Subjecting you to slow torture
And tearing your fangs out
A poet from Shouwa era has probably sung
"You must not die yet!"
As those beautiful tears
Remain not understood...
They face their guns' muzzles towards the sky
As they measure nonsense with the emptiness of a flightless hawk's wings
This blue sky continues to be defiled by youth...
We don't want to live
Like livestock
Or as just another person of a crowd
In a nation branded with foolishness
We'll steal from them as many times as you want
And you shall get what you want
Before you undergo a gentle castration
On a bed of mud
Some honorable men have probably said once
"Come now and fight without stopping!"
But what is it
That we should do to our enemies...?
We'll invade them wherever they are
And raid this era
So that we are never ever distracted
By the freedom of this prison
A writer from the Shouwa era has probably written
"I will get my revenge!"
But this anger
Is not held by a god, but by oneself
Is not held by a god, but by me...