This day, death haunts my homeland
Far off, rosy clouds are burnt to the ground
Angels scatter the ashes onto the world
I hold a paper plane in my hand
On it is written its name: Future
There is no time to turn back, just
Run hard toward a more empty place

When all practices become reality
I don't even have time to wipe away the tears
In the gap between life and death
Rush into a dugout alongside strangers
Eyes wide open in the dark yet no future is to be seen
Brushes past me the shadow of the future

The ultra-violent bird of peace
Has flown away in silence
I can hold it no longer
The paper plane named after the future