The whisper that dissolves into the bustling crowd
makes the memories scattered underfoot blur together.
The blazing of the street where I walk about lost (glaring one way)
illuminates me as coldly as though it freezes.
The cold times make dreams fall like rain and slip through my hands.
When I woke up from the countless wishes, you are reflected in a shimmering
illusion --
the silhouette whose faint smile leads me along.
Even if the gentleness that tells about only what makes anxiety flow
had fulfilled eternity, I still don't want tomorrow.
The words that I have to give to you are (it's talk to myself)
falling into an everyday routine, even without shadows.
With a trembling finger, I gather up the dreams; without even breathing
on them, they're crumbling.
Even the certain things are too unreliable; if I believe in something, can
I be with you again?
It's whitely vanishing, the silhouette of that day.
Looking up at that palely-dyed season (Life Winter Dream)
I, who stopped to stand still, am swept away.
The wind blows it out, makes it be left behind; even the yearning is growing
numb from the cold in my heart.
The cold times drift about in dreams, but are caught and held in your hands.
When I woke up from the countless wishes, you are reflected in a shimmering
illusion --
the silhouette whose faint smile leads me along
AJÁNLOM AZ OLDALT
ending (angolul)
