As though to rewrite the transient foam-like future,
the noises of reincarnation, which holds the fantasies together, are resounding. Time is distorting, while the melodies and laws of karma are crumbling away.
It's a succession program bestowed by the gods.
Now, one, two, three! We shall become links of one chain. Now, one, two, three! We shall shake ourselves free of death.
We'll contend for a miracle that will fight against this eraser game of annihilation, just like a fantasy dream.
It's a puppet program bestowed by the gods.
Now, one, two, three! We shall become one. Now, one, two, three! We shall evade death.
Now, one, two, three! We shall become links of one chain. Now, one, two, three! We shall shake ourselves free of death.
We'll snatch away the miracle that's thirsting for a survival game of annihilation, just like a spiral.
The bystanders, while pitying us, were even farther away than the life or death we longed for. In a tiny garden at the end of the ends, I believed that there would be a boundless miracle.