Ah, it’s so helpless. The beast wriggles inside me. I see them rise to the surface and disappear—bubbles.
Ah, I’m hopelessly sad. The beast controls me. Bubbles come out of my hands holding tautology.
Rather than thinking of passing clouds, I want to howl into the distance. I don’t even have time to catch my breath. That’s how painful it is.
Take it slow, burn my dreams With the whiteness of my soul, I just want to light the fire of joy. Imagination, that’s a little easy money. With my hands of words that never grow cold, I want to count what never burns out and just scoop up.
Now, everyone, please take a look. The dried-out beast of mine, making a sound of simmering rage. Ah, after I blew out the candle, all that is left for me is ridiculous pedantism.
Towards passing clouds, I wonder why I’m howling. I don’t even have time to feel sad. That’s how sad it is.
With imagination, just one will do, bring the sun to my lonely heart. Light the fire, fire of joy, please. Irritation, that’s a little easy money too.
With my hands in agony, I want to count what never burns out and just pick up. Half in doubt and wounded all over, I still want the sun. So light my fire even more.
Let it all out. If it’s supernatural power, fiction or escapism, I don’t care. Light my fire even more.
Make me quiver. Let the sunset burn my eyes. With the whiteness of my soul, I just want to light the fire of joy.
Go high above and beyond my imagination. With my hands of words that never grow cold, I want to collect all, even what has burned out, and just scoop up.
