Russia is waging a disgraceful war on Ukraine.     Ukrayna'nın Yanında Olun!
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    ミサイル → İngilizce çevirisi

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ミサイル

取り返しの付かない未来は 今更どうすることも出来ないと
鈍色に輝きをくすぶらせて ワンルームのベッドの中で不貞寝している
つけっぱなしにしたテレビでは アナウンサーが黒い服を着て
参列者に話を聞いている 「未来がお亡くなりになりました」
テロ関連施設ミサイル攻撃のニュースを聞きながら
胸を痛めてみせる家賃未納の夢にぶら下がる僕の頭上を
人生を俯瞰でしか感じられない僕らの日常を
すれすれにかすめてミサイルが飛んでった
 
僕らの自由とはミサイルで 僕らの自由とは平和主義で
全てを作り直したくて 全てを壊してみたりする
僕らの自由とは芸術で 僕らの自由とはリストカットで
全ての人に認められたくて 全ての人を憎んだりする
 
誰が悪いとか 言ったって 等しく惨めに命を這いずって
「死にたくねぇ」と言えばそれですんでしまう それだけに何百小節も費やして
年3万人の自殺者の切迫した動機のそれぞれを
食い物にする唄うたいとワイドショーの明確な類似性を
人生の気まずさを 穴埋めしたいが為の大義を
すれすれにかすめてミサイルが飛んでった
 
僕らの自由とは心療内科で 僕らの自由とは承認欲求で
全ての人に優しくされたくて 傷ついた振りをしてみたりする
僕らの自由とは信仰で 僕らの自由とは唯物論で
全て人のためだと言い聞かせて 奪い合っていたりする
 
固有名詞に放たれた銃声は 僕らにとっては時報程の響きで
上空を通り過ぎたミサイルは 未だ誰の「心」にも落下せず
自堕落な生活の果てに待つ結末ののっぴきならなさと
暗雲たれ込める時代の不安がはからずもリンクした
 
「どうせならこの もやもやを ろくでもないこの世界を」
なんて口走る自己弁護を 吹き飛ばしてくれよ
 
僕らの自由とは帰らぬ日々で 僕らの自由とはこぼれるひとしずくで
全て願えば報われると 明けない夜に願ってる
僕らの自由とは背徳で 僕らの自由とは不自由で
ただ一つを手にするために 全てを投げ捨てたりする
 
Çeviri

Missile

The future meant for us is written in stone. There’s nothing we can do about it now.
I lie in bed, furious, as I try to get some sleep within the gray twinkle of this smoke-stained room.
An announcer dressed head to toe in black appeared on the TV I’d left switched on.
The guest brought on for today’s episode said, “There’s no future left for us anymore.”
While the news story of a missile attack against a terrorist encampment plays in the background,
My dreams fill up with all my worries over the months worth of rent money I’ve yet to pay.
Over these lives of ours you’d never know unless you looked from above,
Grazing our heads as they go, all these missiles take to the skies.
 
What is permitted us are these missiles. What is permitted us is our pacifism.
We want so badly to change the world. But first it must be blown to smithereens.
What is permitted us is our artistry. What is permitted us is self-injury.
We want so badly to be accepted that in the end we’ve come to hate everybody.
 
We talk about how awful everyone is. About how all of our lives are equally sad.
Yet I’ve spent so many verses on how all that talk ends when you realize you don’t want to die.
Each of the many motives of the 30,000 who kill themselves every year,
Is used as material by we songwriters like it’s some kind of late-night variety show.
Over the disgusting parts of life and the crusade to make it right,
Grazing our heads as they go, all these missiles take to the skies.
 
What is permitted us are therapy and pills. What is permitted us is society’s approval.
We want everybody to keep treating us well. So we keep pretending like we’ve been hurt.
What is permitted us is religiosity. What is permitted us is materialism.
And if you tell us it’s for the good of humanity, it’ll just become a dog-eat-dog world.
 
A proper noun like a shot heard around the world has all the force of a time signal.
The missiles reach the zenith of their arcs, yet to reach the hearts of their targets.
The inevitable conclusion of a life lived steeped in self-indulgence,
Is unexpectedly linked with the anxiety of living in these dark times.
 
“And so, to this depressing and ultimately good-for-nothing world,”
Or rather, to such a self-serving excuse, blow them all to kingdom come.
 
What is permitted us are days spent away from home. What is permitted us is the drop of liquid we spilled.
We pray during this eternal night that all of our prayers will soon be answered.
What is permitted us is corruption. What is permitted us is destitution.
In order to gain even a single thing, we’re willing to risk everything we have.
 
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