[Intro] (Reverberating drums, noise, the faint sound of a wind chime) [Verse 1] A vertical strike piercing the horizontal plane of daily life A state of self-transcendence; the pulse of the drums The sun of that day, scorching the skin Fanned by a chance breeze, a forgotten vertigo rises up [Verse 2] A wild shadow leaping behind the mask An unleashing of passion; the crystallization of life spent lavishly The vermilion of *Yasurai*; the vortex of Poseidon A living, breathing body shattering the cage of memory [Chorus] An aged frame standing motionless after the frenzied festival A blue flame wavers beyond the inorganic mirror Not a symbol, not a calculation A raw, visceral summer—welling up from deep within—is there [Verse 3] Traces of a dream where ritual and rule were one; a throng of masks filling the plaza The myth of transformation; the moment words are lost A multi-layered imprint remembered only by the body A summer night where a friend’s first Obon coincides with one’s own ascension [Outro] (The clamor of the festival fading into the distance, a quiet sigh) Reflected in the mirror—the "me" I had forgotten Only the heat remains Still here. Right now.
