『Paradoxical Generation』J-Rock / Post-Hardcore #HardCore4th

『Paradoxical Generation』 擦り減る心 やつれる頬 「希望」の火は燻り続けた 美しく装う世界 ドグマに腐る為政者 積み上げた瓦礫は バベルの残骸か 祈る暇もなく明日を削り 生きる意味という魔法を 生成し続けた 積み上げた数字と形の 狭間で報われる時を待ち続けてた リップサービスさえ届かない 絶対零度の世界 魂は凍てつき 砕け散る時を待っていた 咳き込めば口を覆った掌に 鮮血の刻印 それでも未来を掴むのは この手だと信じていた 身も心も調和を失い 命のマナは尽き果てて街は崩れ落ち 絶望の氷河は全てを呑み込んだ 積み上げた数字と形の 狭間で報われる場所を探していた 羊達のカリスマ達だけが平穏なこの世界 テリトリーを広げ権勢を誇り笑ってた 報われない夢達は 虚無の空に砕け 縛られないはずの心は 氷に閉ざされた 日々の遣り甲斐は仮初め 心が躍る夜もあるけど 神は人に手を貸すほど暇じゃない 知ってる 救いなんて幻想だった 積み上げた数字と形の 狭間で報われる時を待ち続けてた リップサービスさえ届かない 絶対零度の世界 魂は凍てつき 砕け散る時を待っていた 積み上げた数字と形の 狭間で報われる 場所を探していた 羊達のカリスマ達だけが 平穏なこの世界 テリトリーを広げ 権勢を誇り笑ってた 凍えて消え行く灯なのか 雑踏に紛れ落ち壊れた音が響く 自らを救う為に編み出した 魔法がせめて後世を救いますように……。 －－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－ 🎵 Paradoxical Generation English Translation (nuance-priority, full version) Worn-down hearts, hollowed cheeks, the fire called “hope” kept smoldering. A world dressed up to look beautiful, rulers rotting in dogma. The rubble piled high— are these the remains of Babel? With no time even to pray, we shaved away tomorrow, endlessly generating the spell called “the meaning of life.” Between the piles of numbers and forms, we kept waiting for the moment of reward. Not even lip service reaches us, in a world at absolute zero. Souls frozen solid, waiting for the moment they shatter. When we cough, the palm covering our mouth is stamped with fresh blood. Even so, we believed that grasping the future would be done with these hands. Body and soul lose their harmony, the mana of life runs dry, the city collapses. The glacier of despair swallows everything. Between the piles of numbers and forms, we searched for a place where we might be rewarded. In this world at peace only for the charismatic shepherds, they expanded their territory, boasting of power and laughing. Unrewarded dreams shatter in the void of the sky. Hearts that were never meant to be bound are sealed shut by ice. The sense of purpose in daily life is temporary. There are nights when the heart still dances, but— God is not idle enough to lend a hand to humans. I know. Salvation was nothing but an illusion. Between the piles of numbers and forms, we kept waiting for the moment of reward. Not even lip service reaches us, in a world at absolute zero. Souls frozen solid, waiting for the moment they shatter. Between the piles of numbers and forms, we searched for a place to be rewarded. Only the charismatic shepherds remain at peace in this world, expanding their territory, boasting of power and laughing. Is it a freezing flame, fading away? Broken sounds fall apart, swallowed by the crowd. The magic we devised to save ourselves— may it at least save those who come after us…