Mom, why is that
the things we were brought up with
are destroyed by ourselves, as the days keep coming?
The collage breaks into pieces
but its not thrown away
Theres nothing in my hands
even when youre holding them…
*Be my last… be my last…
Be my last… be my last…
Please you have to be my last…
Unknown friends told me to do my best
But this love was a mistake
No, it wasnt a mistake
Theres nothing to grasp with my hands..
how far will this dream go?
With my hands With my hands
With my hands With my hands
With my hands, be my last…
Rather than being together some day,
I would be with you tonight, just for a hour
Who is the adult,
whos connected hand is still empty?
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