Train sending off many carts, married lady, giant watch store, the pedestrian
walk lasting quite a ways away, a flowery scene. The flowerpot under the willow is a
memory of the past, a Fuji Dawn violet.
The streets of Ginza increasingly panting like infected pustules. The stench of gas,
a strange lady standing in anxiety.
Today's the day—I won't stand for this unless I raze those crimson lips to the
ground—a strong young man jumps out of the electric train. An old-fashioned
dramatic manner of walking. To that smile as though becoming aware of something, I
will invest in your smile, come now, burn, burn . . . . . . .
And the young man approaches. Given agility with this feeling of the night
showing signs of the coming spring, the two get going, but the jewel ring bites the
black hand again, the woman is speechless, warm pulsations. Though it's cloudy, it's
nothing new, the sky's alright, but what a bad sign, the bruise!
There it goes, the guy who looks like a mole is brought to a standstill, too.
Customers come jumping in with muddied feet, pretentious people, company workers,
"Mr. Scholar," a young man hidden incognito. It started, there, the music of the café!
Kabuka, dom dom, buka dom dom . . . . . . with hydrangea tea dance the
kappore with bitter tea dance the kappore . . . . . . it’s coffee, noodles, fruit
. . . gimme some meat!
The sound of knives, the sound of thigh meat, gachari gachari . . . the sound of
dishes. Standing on one's head as modern people moan, the irresistible music!
A young man drawing a deep red breath, with the fever circulating from his
liqueur, yanks the tail of a black waterfowl and heads outside. Round and round
the waterfowl twirls, flares up the sweet smell, spring breeze outside.
There, whereto now? A young man keen on riding first on that night train, the
one sobbing is a woman. Distinct engraving is the night's shadow smashed is the
alleyway inflamed by a lantern, voices of people exiting and crowding. Without
surprise, as the end is terrifying, the words of a spineless man—(happiness one had
the bitterness of parting bittersweet inside the heart) from the sky an
unforgivable raindrop . . . . . .
walk lasting quite a ways away, a flowery scene. The flowerpot under the willow is a
memory of the past, a Fuji Dawn violet.
The streets of Ginza increasingly panting like infected pustules. The stench of gas,
a strange lady standing in anxiety.
Today's the day—I won't stand for this unless I raze those crimson lips to the
ground—a strong young man jumps out of the electric train. An old-fashioned
dramatic manner of walking. To that smile as though becoming aware of something, I
will invest in your smile, come now, burn, burn . . . . . . .
And the young man approaches. Given agility with this feeling of the night
showing signs of the coming spring, the two get going, but the jewel ring bites the
black hand again, the woman is speechless, warm pulsations. Though it's cloudy, it's
nothing new, the sky's alright, but what a bad sign, the bruise!
There it goes, the guy who looks like a mole is brought to a standstill, too.
Customers come jumping in with muddied feet, pretentious people, company workers,
"Mr. Scholar," a young man hidden incognito. It started, there, the music of the café!
Kabuka, dom dom, buka dom dom . . . . . . with hydrangea tea dance the
kappore with bitter tea dance the kappore . . . . . . it’s coffee, noodles, fruit
. . . gimme some meat!
The sound of knives, the sound of thigh meat, gachari gachari . . . the sound of
dishes. Standing on one's head as modern people moan, the irresistible music!
A young man drawing a deep red breath, with the fever circulating from his
liqueur, yanks the tail of a black waterfowl and heads outside. Round and round
the waterfowl twirls, flares up the sweet smell, spring breeze outside.
There, whereto now? A young man keen on riding first on that night train, the
one sobbing is a woman. Distinct engraving is the night's shadow smashed is the
alleyway inflamed by a lantern, voices of people exiting and crowding. Without
surprise, as the end is terrifying, the words of a spineless man—(happiness one had
the bitterness of parting bittersweet inside the heart) from the sky an
unforgivable raindrop . . . . . .