Though I’ve nothing but things I want to say, (translation by shiopaca)
I’m sorry that nothing comes out
I’ve become a poisonous bug,
it isn’t that interesting though
Since I’m short of time,
shall I try write a letter this time?
On another worthless day like today,
I’ll take a ride on the first train of the day
Though I have to walk in order to triumph,
I’m sorry that my legs don’t work very well
The Abelias are blooming,
gazing upon the city beneath
I scooped up the tiny little insect
on the window frame and squashed it
The white flowers that swayed
in the first summer’s wind were beautiful today as well
An emotion that isn’t even in textbooks:
On a lovely day like today,
someone stumbled and
pretended to be dead
We go
pit-a-pat pit-a-pat,
to know what lies in our hearts
Even now,
I’m only just
holding flowers
You
walk, click-clack click-clack,
far far away
As I write in trembling words,
the paper ends
One morning, as I awake,
the excessive number of legs caught my attention
Having become a poisonous bug,
it didn’t seem that interesting
Since my frightened family isn’t even here,
I look down upon the calm of the city alone
That hair of yours
that swayed in the first summer’s wind came to mind
Surely, in the near future,
you’ll come to hate people
If i could lose my human(ity),
then, I’d be able to meet you with a smile
One day,
clickety-clack clickety-clack,
I’ll find myself alone
Even still,
I’ll only just be
admiring flowers
You have,
alas, alas, alas, alas,
sung your last song
As I write in trembling words,
the morning ends
Aah, perhaps,
perhaps, I’m just strange, right?
There’s no way a person could become an insect,
and no point even if this letter reaches you
Aah, perhaps,
perhaps,
for a dream to come true,
you need money
I realised that though
I’m still holding on
to the letter that you sent
Gazing at those shaky words of some kind
We
go pit-a-pat pit-a-pat,
to know what lies in our hearts
As I write in
trembling words
We
We go
pit-a-pat pit-a-pat,
to know what lies in our hearts
Even still,
I’ll only just be
admiring flowers
You have,
alas, alas, alas, alas,
gone to live far away
As I write in trembling words,
the morning ends
The paper ends
Though I’m filled with things I want to say,
I’m sorry that nothing comes out
It’s just my strange song
about having become just a poisonous bug