Enmei Chiryou (Translyrics)

This might be horrible, so...yeah.

Enmei Chiryou is one of my favorite songs by Neru, actually, because of it's pacing and, well, the fact that it's rock and that it's NERU.

Neru's known for his dark works, so...yeah.

Please credit me if you wish to use these lyrics!

Disclaimer: I do not own the original song. I only created the translyrics. The song's composer is Neru, and the Vocaloid he used for this song is IA.

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This anesthesia; it’s piercing through my veins.

They say with only this, I can feel happiness…

And looking to the west, you see dolls being played,

While looking to the east, it seems like operations’ been stopped...

Hey, ain’t it strange?

It almost seems like my head’s bugging out…

Don’t get this life of late asphyxiation…

That binary knife; it’s driving me insane -

That cast, it can’t be removed.

Patient’s state: being stuck between machinery and pride,

As both sides, hurting each other with these two limbs; limbs full of tubes and wires.

This treatment, it’s bleak and really uncertain!

Hey now, I beg of you, take me away!

“But wait, you’re getting sleepy.”

That wooden bridge, trembling irregularly,

It crumbles after raising a dull voice.

And kicked away to the side, just like trash,

It raised its voice, and laughed towards the sky.

Its left behind on that operation table,

Along with the me of yesterday, who’s weeping.

The next day, it relies too much on miracles…

So really, what are we supposed to wish for?

Symptoms bud, even if I get my freedom from visions.

And us two, we expected that we'd meet again, embracing once again…

But a ward where we have lost our utopia;

It splits us, and I have known why, from the very start…

By admitting it, my life will go on without a hitch, now ain’t that right?

“Hey, I know that it’s all my fault,

Yeah, I know that I am to blame.”

That adult I’ve always dreamt of being; well, I can’t exactly be him now!

Well that’s that, so what should I become now?

Long life, grant me a long life,

And proof, give a question of proof…

Regret, that’s my diagnosis.

How’s that?