Trapped by a mucous membrane blacking out light, let the sensibility blocked from activity go on a
Liberation movement, take back the path and off to a solo armed uprising

Calculating back to the end in a life or death situation, suburban memento mori
Alley filled with vacant stores, suburban railway bridge, constantly watched by the spirit looming over me

A used car that continuously went back and forth for a hundred thousand kilos over a national highway of words to words
Continued to see and care for my unfulfilled dreams in the shores until the dreams were finally laid to rest

I’d want to burry my bones in my homeland, but I’d choose this place for the death of my words
In ten years, a hundred years, I’m know these seeds will eventually sprout leaves

I sing the song I was told not to sing, I shout out words I was told not to speak
Without enough passion to burn, those tears once shed in defeat
To the tomorrows we glared at, unwilling to let it end, the impulse to let my frustrations blowup recklessly
If that isn’t hope I don’t know what is
　
Reality and imaginations both equally heavy, turn into lead and rain down into that airhole in your chest
I can see your apathetic tomorrow through it

A word processor that continuously spouted computer equations, an insignificant line shredded and thrown away will
Now, a few years later, pierce despair that looms over like a boulder

I sing a song I was told not to sing, I shout out words I was told not to speak
Without enough passion to burn, those tears once shed in defeat
To the tomorrows we glared at, unwilling to let it end, the impulse to let my frustrations blowup recklessly
If that isn’t hope I don’t know what is
　
I sing a song I was told not to sing, my eyes are blinded