歪な花の独白-Monologue of a Warped Flower-

J-POP, electropop, k-pop, avant-garde black metal

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V4.5+

[Verse 1]
戻れない　未来もない
私の人生　亡霊の手が書いた台本
撮り直しはなし　視線を呑み込め
それを慈悲と呼ぶ？　それとも鎖？
毎日がそう
ルールは有刺鉄線　逆らえば　血が出る
詩なんて A convulsion in the dark.  
I stake everything, always,  
and it splits me open. 
Again. Again. Again.

[Chorus]
地図もない　道もない
焼け焦げた太陽の亡霊を　追いかけてる
私は誰かの備品だ
毒の土から生えた　切り離された花
歪んで　捩れて　見世物にされて
野に咲く花は　こんな色をしてない
この土を汚したのは　人の手

[Verse 2]
詩は無力 A convulsion in the dark.  
言葉は　私を見捨てた
Some fool scorned my voice,  
branded me “poet” like a scar.  
八時間の鉄の檻
往復二時間 電車かバスの血管を這う
They linger late. I, disabled, slip out on time.  
This is my prison.

[Bridge]
Society’s a liar, so I hunt coins.  
Risk it all for them.  
The system—gears of capital, welfare’s cold blade—  
decrees poverty as justice for the broken.  
合う仕事なんてない
This one offers scraps: pay, benefits.  
That’s not the point.  
No escape from this grind.  
他はもっと酷い
十時間すり減らして　魂は空っぽ
創れるものなんて　灰しかない

[Verse 3]
私の言葉は　ここには届かない
「日本語」  my second skin,  
a cage for truths I can’t speak.  
Nonsense? Dada? Surrealism?  
ちがう、Just voicelessness.  
脳をコードに変えて
すべての頭に電流を流したい
今すぐ叫びたい　
「お前ら全員、価値なんかない」
Live anyway—can you bear it?

[Final Chorus]
「クリエイティブな仕事」なんて全部詐欺
Life is beautiful? なら財布を開けろ
施しを乞え　やってみろ
Beg for scraps. Try it.  
If this land collapsed,  
I’d be the last one standing.  
This world’s built for drones who need whips to move,  
who sleep through the apocalypse.  
Fear’s their only pulse.  
So they hang the disabled, the poor, as warnings.

[Outro]
This is our machine.  
Who's the parasite?
Check the mirror.

1699/7500

[Intro] No way back. No horizon ahead. My life’s a script scrawled by phantom hands. No second takes. Just swallow their gazes— call it mercy, call it chains, day after day. Rules are barbed wire. Defy them, you bleed. [Verse 1] 戻れない　未来もない私の人生　亡霊の手が書いた台本撮り直しはなし　視線を呑み込めそれを慈悲と呼ぶ？　それとも鎖？毎日がそうルールは有刺鉄線　逆らえば　血が出る詩なんて A convulsion in the dark. I stake everything, always, and it splits me open. Again. Again. Again. [Chorus] 地図もない　道もない焼け焦げた太陽の亡霊を　追いかけてる私は誰かの備品だ毒の土から生えた　切り離された花歪んで　捩れて　見世物にされて野に咲く花は　こんな色をしてないこの土を汚したのは　人の手 [Verse 2] 詩は無力 A convulsion in the dark. 言葉は　私を見捨てた Some fool scorned my voice, branded me “poet” like a scar. 八時間の鉄の檻往復二時間電車かバスの血管を這う They linger late. I, disabled, slip out on time. This is my prison. [Bridge] Society’s a liar, so I hunt coins. Risk it all for them. The system—gears of capital, welfare’s cold blade— decrees poverty as justice for the broken. 合う仕事なんてない This one offers scraps: pay, benefits. That’s not the point. No escape from this grind. 他はもっと酷い十時間すり減らして　魂は空っぽ創れるものなんて　灰しかない [Verse 3] 私の言葉は　ここには届かない「日本語」 my second skin, a cage for truths I can’t speak. Nonsense? Dada? Surrealism? ちがう、Just voicelessness. 脳をコードに変えてすべての頭に電流を流したい今すぐ叫びたい　「お前ら全員、価値なんかない」 Live anyway—can you bear it? [Final Chorus] 「クリエイティブな仕事」なんて全部詐欺 Life is beautiful? なら財布を開けろ施しを乞え　やってみろ Beg for scraps. Try it. If this land collapsed, I’d be the last one standing. This world’s built for drones who need whips to move, who sleep through the apocalypse. Fear’s their only pulse. So they hang the disabled, the poor, as warnings. [Outro] This is our machine. Who's the parasite? Check the mirror.

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