Marionetto Aria

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最愛のシルエット　慣れ果てた木偶が回る

淡々とピルエット　わからないまま明点ロンリー

嗚呼　期待　肥大　辞退したいの？

最後もう少しなのに

傀儡に委ねてるんだ　お互い様さ

大体はギムレット　食べかけの甘味添えて

最下位とリグレット　気づかないまま閉店ノイジー

勘違い　痛い　時代も埋葬

最後もう少しなのに

傀儡と比べてるんだ　しょうもないオチばかりだから

誰にも見えない糸で

また踊って　癖になって　カラカラと軋んでく

ライトライトな造形鑑賞　ないのないのと共生解除

擦り合ってみせましょう　さあ

いつか等身大で咲かすなら　キレイ事を

開いた前哨戦を悔やむなら　穢れ無き罰を

毒に溺れた指先　全部全部他人事　見ないフリ

だから今日死んじゃってくれるなら　ありのままを

明日も泣いちゃってくれるなら　また嘘を被ろう

もう逝き場などない　操られたまんまで独り悔恨をどうぞ

悄然のシルエット　枯れ果てた下衆が踊る

散々なリブレット　気づいたよ「2」と３つの「5」で

来世なんてない美化した細胞

最後もう少しなのに

傀儡が大嫌いだから　サヨナラだ

強制　果ては夭逝　待てば到底喰らいはしない

後悔　ダレた境界　誰の為でもない諧謔を

吐いて　刺して　穿って　また吐いて

最後なんて来やしない

傀儡を裁いてくんだ　しょうもないヤツばかりだから

何も救えない腕で

馬鹿になって　空になって　バタバタと崩れてく

タイトタイトな生存代償　やいのやいのと創生競争

擦りあってみせましょう　さあ

いつかもういいやって言えるなら　この痛みを

ココロもうないなって言えるなら　曝け出せるのに

嘘に繋がれたままで　全部全部世迷言　見ないフリ

だから今日死んじゃってくれるなら　ありのままを

明日も泣いちゃってくれるなら　また嘘を被ろう

もう逝き場などない　操られたまんまで独り悔恨をどうぞ

<poem.
A most beloved silhouette, the well-practiced wooden doll twirls.
An indifferent pirouette; unknowing, she is a lonely maiden.¹
Ah, expectations swell; do you want to withdraw?
But we’re almost at the end.
I’ve abandoned myself to the marionette, and so have you.

Essentially, it’s like a gimlet, garnished with a half-eaten sweetness.
The lowest rank and my regrets; without noticing, I close up shop for the day, noisy.
This misunderstanding hurts, I bury it along with the era.
But we’re almost at the end.
I contend with the marionette. I’ve got nothing but worthless jokes, you see.

With strings that no one can see,
again, I dance, I grow accustomed to it, and I creak jarringly.
A light, light appreciation of such artful molding. That symbiosis is cancelled out: “no, no!”
Let me show you how we can rub off on each other, come on.

If I’m gonna bloom true to life someday, then give me some lip service.
If I’m gonna regret that opening skirmish, then grant me punishment free of impurity.
Fingertips drenched in poison; that’s all, all someone else’s problem, and I pretend not to see it.
And so, if you’re gonna croak for me today, then just tell it like it is.
And if you’re gonna cry again for me tomorrow, then I’ll assume my lies again.
I have no place to go anymore. Have some of my self-remorse, manipulated as I am.

A despondent silhouette, the withered lowlife dances.
A terrible libretto. I’ve figured it out—with a “2″ and three “5″s.
Beautified cells without any afterlife.
But we’re almost at the end.
I abhor marionettes, you see, so this is goodbye.

Compulsion. And further, premature death. If I wait, I can’t possibly experience it.
Regret. A dulled boundary. For no one in particular,
I spit out jokes, I stab them, pierce them, and then spit them out again.
There is no end coming.
I judge the marionette. It’s nothing more than a worthless bastard, after all.

With arms that can’t save anything,
I grow stupid, I grow empty, and I crumble away with a rattle.
A tight, tight compensation for existence. A creation competition: “hey, hey!”
Let me show you how we can rub off on each other, come on.

If I’ll be able to say that everything’s fine someday, then I’ll take this pain.
If I’ll be able to say that I don’t have a heart anymore, then though I can lay it bare,
tied together with lies like this, I pretend not to notice any, any of that grumbling.

And so, if you’re gonna croak for me today, then just tell it like it is.
And if you’re gonna cry again for me tomorrow, then I’ll assume my lies again.
I have no place to go anymore. Have some of my self-remorse, manipulated as I am.

</poem>