This is a story of long ago
and there's no one to tell this story
It's the same as the origins of species
the origin of the being called me.
It's not a product of imagination
It's a reality you can touch with your fingers
I eagerly prayed for an endless end
and since then I am living an endless dream.
Covering my ears with both hands
I don't want to hear any voice
this is an enigmatic paradox
What are you?
You're not to blame
these senses of mine are broken
this soul of mine takes over.
The me of yesterday and today are different people
and I live on for the moment while losing my way
and it's part of my life to hate you.
Flowers of innumerable answers
are blooming at my being
which flower would be chosen
and be plant in my heart tomorrow?
And then we'll do it again
this is an endless monologue
you seem to enjoy it
when the you I hate have died
will the future you be you?
