Текст песни Matsumoto Sara - Suika

chigireta kumo no sukima ni
hayuru koyoi no tsuki wa
hodoketa obi ni yoku nita
awai hanamoyou

itoshi kimi no kuchibiru ga kuchizusamu temariuta
ano hi no omokage wa mou
maga yomo no hate

neyuki no shita de mebuita ishi no
tsubomi wa doko de saku no darou?
sashinobeta te no nukumori wa kawaru koto naku

nakushita mono wo wasuresaru you ni
sugi yuku shiki no utsuroi ni
michi no hashi yuragu hana yo
kimi wa ima nani omou

tooku nijimu hanadairo ryuu to tabi yuku no uo wa
“ono ga sadame” to chiri te mo haze ni madoite

hakanaku moroku kudaketa tsuki no
kakera wa doko he kaeru darou?
amakakeru sono kirameki wa kataru koto naku

tomo ni asa made hanashita yume wo
kami no kobune ni ukabeyou
nagaku tsudzuku kono tabiji wo shizuka ni miokutte

kimi arishi hi no ano irodori yo
itsuka mata otozureru you ni
potsuri, potsuri tsumugu otodama yokaze ni nosete

sari yuku mono he sasagu omoi no
sono hakanasa ni tomedo naku
manabuta kara otsuru tama wa naze sakazuki wo somu

This evening’s moon, projected through
The gaps in the torn-up clouds,
Was a pale floral pattern. It bore a strong resemblance
To an unfastened kimono sash.

The lips of you, my beloved, hummed a traditional handball song.
The traces of that day have already
Gone to the furthest ends of a night of calamity.

I wonder where the flower bud of my purpose,
Which budded beneath the lingering snow, will bloom?
The warmth of your outstretched hand does not change…

As if it forgets the things it has lost,
O, that flower sways on the side of the road,
In the passage of the four seasons.
What are you thinking of now?

A light indigo spreads across the distance. Though the fish that travel in those currents
Scatter, following “their own destiny,” they are lost in the traps.

I wonder where the fragments of the broken moon, (1)
Which was transient and brittle, will return to?
That soaring, twinkling object tells no tales.

Let us float that dream, which we spoke of until morning,
In a small boat made of paper.
We shall silently see it off on its long journey…

O, the days of you as you were are coloured in that way.
So I can speak to you again one day,
I place a spirit of sound, which I spin drop by drop, on the night breeze.

There is no end to the transience
Of thoughts that are offered to the departed.
Those beads that drop from my eyelids somehow stain my cup…