kirekaketa gaitou ni terasarete meimetsu kurikaesu hitobito no kage gomu no nioi to kuuki no shimerike seijaku to yobu ni wa, hanahada taben shitagatte sadamaranu shiten hoshi wo subette touhoku ni ryuuten ga ga muragatte douse muda datte yume ni yakeochite ato wa nani mo nee
yukisaki no nai joushaken shigan no owari no yuukei chikyuu no ura no kouya e hayaku tsuretettekure
natsu no niwa ni inu no hone shishiruirui no hidzuke sore o fundzukete asu e kikanshien no onpu de chi o haku made wa utae houshajou kita no yamase soko ni saita hana de sae boutoku wa yurusarete
boku wa shitauchi o shita kono machi e iya, shitauchi shita no wa machi no hou de sunaba ni kodomora no shinwataikei sono hitotsubugoto kami wa yadotte karamatte kirenu shakaisei midari ni koete tsuba o hakikake ga ga fusagatte raise utagatte buzama ni moete ato wa nani mo nee
kemono to hito no bunkiten inochi ni takaru ginbae seishi wa reichi no junrei shinu ni wa hayai kousetsu
kokudouzoi no rabu hoteru towairaito junketsu de kotoba tarazu no yoake kitsuonteki na yo no hate sore o nomikonde wa museru ketsuro ni shitataru kaaten inochi ga ima yakeochite shadou ni fuyu no gingakei
torakku no nidai ni matagatte saigetsu ga toorisugita kousaten de outen shite chi o nagashiteita madogoshi ni sore o miteitara inochi ga jirijiri to kogeru oto o kiita
supiido to masatsu hibana o chirashite supiido to masatsu naizou o kogashite
tainai ni hassha no kiteki ketsueki wa touhi no rosen tabidatte wa chikadzuite hanareteiku no wa doushite? iradachi wa nao sakende hibiwareta kyou no fuukei chihyou ni ugatsu sasakure nigatsu wa muku na nanpasen
supiido to masatsu naizou o kogashite
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The shadows of all the people flicker on and off, lit up by the dying street lights There’s the smell of rubber and moisture in the air. There’s far too much talk to call this silence Accordingly, my point of view won’t stay fixed; it skips over the stars and moves on to the northeast Moths gather, but in any case, it’s futile–they burn down in my dreams, and after that, there’s nothing left
A ticket to ride with no destination, the evening scenery at the end of this life Please take me quickly to the wasteland at the other side of the world
There are dog bones in the summer garden, dates marked on piles of corpses. I’ll trample upon them to head for tomorrow, singing until I spit up blood With the notes of bronchitis. The cold wind from the northern mountains radiates in all directions, and even the desecration of the flowers that bloom there is allowed
I clicked my tongue at this town–no, it’s the town that did it to me There’s a system to the myths of the children in the sandbox, and the gods dwell in each grain of sand I get involved, unable to cut off this sociability. I cross over without reason and spit at them I close myself off and doubt an afterlife, burning up clumsily, and after that, there’s nothing left
On the dividing line between beasts and men, silver flies swarm around life Sperm makes a pilgrimage to sacred grounds, too soon to die in snowfall
A love hotel alongside the highway with a chaste twilight. An inadequate dawn, and the end of the world like a stutter I swallow it down and choke, dew dripping down the curtains. Life burns down now at the galactic winter in the road
It straddled the back of a truck, and the years passed by It flipped over at an intersection and shed blood When I saw it through the window, I heard the crackling of life being burned
Speed and friction set off sparks Speed and friction burn my organs
There’s a steam whistle in my body signaling my departure, and my blood is my escape route. Why is it that whenever I set out on a journey and draw near, I find myself getting farther away? I shout out with even more irritation with the fractured scenery of today. A sliver of it pierces the ground. There’s an untainted shipwreck in February