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amazarashi "Yocto (ヨクト)" Liedtext

Übersetzung nach: EN ES

ヨクトはとうとう気が触れたみたいだ 神経症的な陽光の断絶
ポリ袋の夜明けは半ば難破船  社会生活の規律に座礁する
陰口 ため口 鬱憤の捌け口 派遣 日払い 夢 労働 労働
プライドも希望もガラ袋につめた ゴミを漁るカラスが夕日に飛んだ

抜け出せない日々の泥沼に
片足突っ込んで もう全部諦めた

夢は必ず叶うから って夢を叶えた人達が
臆面もなく歌うから 僕らの居場所はなくなった
ヨクトは散々失った 人としての最小単位だ
カビ臭い部屋に寝転んで 世界が終わるのを夢想する

「用がないならもう電話はしないで」 昔付き合ってたあの娘は言う
僕にはすがるもの幾つあるだろう 空しくなるから考えるの止めた

泣きたいのは悔しさがあるからで
最後に泣いたのは もういつの事だっけ

誰が一番幸せか 比べ出したらもう末期だ
簡単に人を笑うなら 嘲笑はどうせ順繰りだ
ヨクトは散々失った 人としての最小単位だ
カビ臭い部屋に寝転んで 世界が終わるのを夢想する

ポケット地図 就業証明書 電気水道ガス請求書
時給 レシート 冷凍倉庫 愚痴 悪口 クズのショウウィンドウ
未開封包丁 2ちゃんに投稿 薄い壁の向こう側の幻聴
孤独の焦燥 やばいよどうしよう 教えてここから抜け出す方法
抜け出す方法
生きたいよもっと

僕らが道を選ぶなら 答え合わせなんてないから
誰かのせいにするのなら その誰かに生かされてるんだ
ヨクトは散々失った 人としての最小単位だ
どうせいつかは終わるなら せめて自分で選んだ終わり方

The yocto tells me we’ve all lost our senses. Scorched by the sunlight fueled by neurosis.
A plastic bag filters the dawn as it covers half a shipwreck. Order drives our social lives right into the deck.
Gossip, frankness, the outlets for our anger. The temps’ wages are their dreams and twice the labor.
We stuffed our hopes and pride deep into the gunny sack. The scavenging crows fly off into the sunset.

The days trapping us are a swamp of sludge and muck.
And when one of our legs gets stuck, we feel like giving it all up.

Those who were able to make it so that each and every dream could come true,
They sang without an ounce of shame in their hearts, and we lost the only place to go home to.
To those who’ve lost all they had left to lose, the yocto’s the smallest thing they can understand.
Lazing around inside a moldy room, they imagine the time when the world comes to an end.

“If you don’t need anything, then please stop calling me.” So says the girl who I used to go out with.
I’ve got a few things that I keep on clinging to. I’ve got nothing left so my brain just up and quit.

It hurts every single time that I cry.
I wonder when I’ll cry for the very last time.

Who among us is the happiest? The moment you compare, it’s much too late.
It’s so easy to laugh at someone else, we’ll take turns loading on jeers and hate.
To those who’ve lost all they had left to lose, the yocto’s the smallest thing they can understand.
Lazing around inside a moldy room, they imagine the time when the world comes to an end.

A pocket map and work credentials. Gas, water, and electric bills.
Wages, receipts, and a freezing storeroom. Gripes and insults, like trash in the window.
A kitchen knife sealed. On 2chan, reply all. Bumps in the night on the other side of the wall.
Loneliness spurs tension. Oh god, what should I do? Somebody tell me how to get out of here.
How do I get out of here?
I don’t want to die here!

Even if we all choose the paths we walk, that doesn’t mean we know if chose well or poor.
And if the blame should fall on someone’s head, that means they’ll have something to live for.
To those who’ve lost all they had left to lose, the yocto’s the smallest thing they can understand.
And should everything come to an end someday, at least let me choose where I’ll make my final stand.