In the heart that seems like a sharpened knife
The long and delicate meaning that doesn't exist cuts down from day to day
The piled up past or the boredom
Are drawn out as is on the days when the waste doesn't burn
Like a letter without an address
Our future place and even the current one are both non-existent
The frayed dream and the hope
Are drawn out as is on the days when the waste doesn't burn
The semitransparent uncertain membrane wraps our world
The true feeling five meters ahead
Will be gone some day
Don't lose sight of it
The darkness's former hazy brilliance
The negative and positive nature of light
I wonder if the me who has turned wild can become accustomed to being a butterfly
I break
Until the dull pain fades away
If able, don't abandon it and leave it as it is
The semitransparent uncertain membrane wraps our world
The true feeling five meters ahead
Won't be forgotten
It will always be connected
The horrible world of abandonment calls us
With a desire made of glass, what is there in the prying future?
The darkness's former hazy brilliance
The negative and positive nature of light
I wonder if the me who has turned wild can become accustomed to being a butterfly
I break
The long and delicate meaning that doesn't exist cuts down from day to day
The piled up past or the boredom
Are drawn out as is on the days when the waste doesn't burn
Like a letter without an address
Our future place and even the current one are both non-existent
The frayed dream and the hope
Are drawn out as is on the days when the waste doesn't burn
The semitransparent uncertain membrane wraps our world
The true feeling five meters ahead
Will be gone some day
Don't lose sight of it
The darkness's former hazy brilliance
The negative and positive nature of light
I wonder if the me who has turned wild can become accustomed to being a butterfly
I break
Until the dull pain fades away
If able, don't abandon it and leave it as it is
The semitransparent uncertain membrane wraps our world
The true feeling five meters ahead
Won't be forgotten
It will always be connected
The horrible world of abandonment calls us
With a desire made of glass, what is there in the prying future?
The darkness's former hazy brilliance
The negative and positive nature of light
I wonder if the me who has turned wild can become accustomed to being a butterfly
I break