Green blasphemies
and a dying duck.
The eyes of the forgotten sun
shall see our faces
no more.
We used to sit under the trees,
just breathing, as leaves fell
one after the other.
Green blasphemies
and a dying bird.
No song has ever been written
to describe the way they used to feel
before growing the seed of misery.
Our silence will never remain.
Our voice - there's no such thing.
My dry eyes, dry faces
around Japan - Arigato Mr. Roboto,
and welcome where everyone
wants to be
the first one.
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washa-washeado