Testo: Gazette. Without a Trace.

I peel off my frail consciousness
Slowly so my footsteps making a sound
I become ash, scattering into little pieces.
It's only this, nothing more...
Without a trace

The feeling that I'm aware of my ignorance
is more cowardice than helplessness.
Crawling into the bottom of my mixed consciousness,
I ask my subconsciousness...
I cannot see the lotus right before my eyes.

Burying your breath in the still season,
You, who waited for help, got wet.
The withered song you cannot hear anymore
Has no exceptions; I'm crying.

The tears I shed for my loss
Will also flow when you are pulled down by sadness.
So that I don't have to watch someone else die without help,
I close my eyelids

My body that's entwined within the spiral
is slowly, slowly twisting.
In my throat, there are thousands of questions I want to ask;
For me, what can I save?
The lotus is dying right before my eyes.

Burying your breath in the still season,
You, who waited for help, got wet.
The withered song you cannot hear anymore
Has no exceptions; I'm crying.

Like a dense fog clearing up,
Like a proof of existence that won't disappear,
If this song reaches you,
You'll probably think it's hypocrisy

Burying your breath in the still season,
You, who waited for help, got wet.
Like my raised voice you can no longer hear,
I know my sins can't be restored.