幽霊 (Yūrei) (превод на Английски)
I hang phantoms of my past.
Out to dry on the hangers.
The sentimental young boy,
Sees a figure as he is about to leave.
A coat draped over him from those parted with.
Only the wind is there to see him off.
His frostbitten fingers open the door,
He drops his regrets by his feet and leaves town.
Downtown sees him greeted by a friendly face,
Along with a silent laughing voice.
The bustle turns to stillness.
Every bit of fun you have is happiness you don’t.
And precipitating in the four corners of consciousness,
Are tiny droplets of remorse.
The tedious vigil by their deathbeds continues.
When I finally return to my room alone,
Awash in the indifference of the setting sun,
And these feelings of mine all blended up,
These invisible beings spring into view.
Spectres, an answering machine,
In a vacant, twilit room.
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