Abstract Nonsense Kagamine Rin
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Romaji / Original:
atamagonashi no kijou no kuuron kubi kara shita ga kuuchuubunkai
namari de tsumugu shourai sekkei ronsou no FANTAJII
mimi o sumaseba koko dake no hanashi jitsu wa ano ko wa MONOKURO PAPETTO
kokoro no naka de kainarasu shujin hensuu no SHINFONII
aa, WATASHI ni nefuda tsukete
aa, jinsei mo ryuunen sun no matte sa shishagonyuu
kudaranai ne yametakute mado kara kao dashite sa
tsumaranai ne akite kite SHINU yuuki mo nai desho
kudaranai ne yametakute tesuji ni chuusha sashite sa
tsumaranai ne akite kite KEEKI demo kutte shinkokyuu shiterunda yo
dare mo kare mo ga chuuburarinrin atama no NEJI ga kazumoto tarinai
kusari de tsunagu ni BAITO jinsei yuujou no FAKUTORII
ANTENA taterya koko dake no hanashi jitsu wa ano ko mo MASUKOMI MONKII
kiiroikoe de reikan shouhou sonzai no DASUTORII
aa, kimi mo KOCHIRA ni oide yo
aa, sou yatte nannin ayamenno sa shishagonyuu
kudaranai ne yametakute mune ni NAIFU atete sa
tsumaranai ne akite kite kurushimu kakugo nai desho
kudaranai ne yametakute atama made tsukatte sa
tsumaranai ne akite kite omou dake nara TADA nanda yo
aa, kojiki mitai ni hatte sa
aa, sonnan ja shoumei owarandesho shishagonyuu
kudaranai ne yametakute douro ni tobidashite sa
tsumaranai ne akite kite tochuu de nigedasu desho
kudaranai ne yametakute KOMEKAMI juu de utte sa
tsumaranai ne akite kite sonna mousou suru dake
datte nakitakute kurshikute dare ni mo sugarezu
kono koe wa warawarete mushisarete tsumari WATASHI wa tada no GARAKUTA
ashita wa kitto ame da.
english translation:
The impractical theories on my desktop, unable to find any audience, disintegrate half-way.
My future plan, being woven with lead, is a fantasy of confrontational debates and arguments.
When I listen more closely, the story is secret talk. That kid is but a monochrome puppet.
Its owner, being kept in its heart, is a symphony of variable parameters.
Ah, attach a price tag to me.
Ah, even life itself is expectantly not moving forward. I'll round the number.
How pointless. I want to stop, so I stick my head out of the window.
How boring. I've become weary, but I don't have the courage to kill myself.
How pointless. I want to stop, so I stick a syringe into my wrist.
How boring. I've become weary, so I'm eating some cake and taking deep gasps.
Everybody is hung midair and swinging. The number of bolts and screws in their head is lacking.
My life, with two interlocked part-time jobs, is a factory of friendship.
When I raise my antenna, the story is secret talk. That kid, too, is but a monkey of mass media.
The fraudulent sales, conducted in a high-pitched voice, are the dustpans of existence.
Ah, you should come over here.
Ah, how many people are you going to kill like that? Round the number.
How pointless. I want to stop, so I press a knife against my bosom.
How boring. I've become weary, but I don't have the resolve to inflict pain upon myself.
How pointless. I want to stop, so I let even my head be submerged.
How boring. I've become weary, so I'll merely keep thinking because that's all I have been doing.
Ah, if you keep crawling like a beggar,
ah, the proof will never be finished. Round the number.
How pointless. I want to stop, so I jump into a path.
How boring. I've become weary, so I start running away in the middle of my journey.
How pointless. I want to stop, so I point a gun at the temple of my forehead.
How boring. I've become weary, but I can only keep on fantasizing about suicide.
I feel like crying from my suffering, but am unable to cling to anyone,
and my voice is being ridiculed and ignored. To put it simply, I am merely a piece of junk.
It's going to rain tomorrow for sure.
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Thanks for listening (*)
