The Setting Sun
In Ueno, Akihabara, and Tokyo; we’re certified to haggle with our lives.We flee the dystopia in our fight to exist. We can’t believe that we waited this long.A girl smiles brightly at the raven’s cry, is told she’s not attractive, and holes up in her room.Humanity is antisocial, blasphemes, and lives steeped in immorality.
No one knows if they’ll survive ‘til it’s too late. “It’s only sensible to focus on yourself.”Give me a break! You just think it sounds good. That’s the kind of worldliness the world loves.People scorn the innocent like they’re evil. From the crushed wildflower bursts out a single seed.An unbroken spider’s thread runs down the subway, a thread untouched by the thronging masses.
The deep red of the setting sun is beautiful beyond words,As though it would fill the emptiness between the stars and mankind.
Whether humanist, or a racist, the sun will set as it does today.Like a bookmark, it puts the struggle on hold as it sinks down below the land.The color of our eyes, the color of our skin, the color of our hair, gaze upon them all.The testament to our raison d’etre wraps around our bodies.We exist. We exist. We exist.
They hate each other in equal measure, the blood of their fickle pacifism.Out of a love for freedom, order is set aflame. The product of man is pinned beneath the rubble.The line’s out of commission, and the gods have vanished. Should we turn back or press on? How should I know?Before we know it, buildings like grave markers and regrets stand in a line.
After a few years, a few months, or even a few hours,We’re backed against the wall by our reverse-engineered lives.
Whether humanist, or a racist, the sun will set as it does today.For generations, the setting sun has stood for the smallest measure of death.The will to judge. The will to cry. The will to die. The will to expose.They are testament that I choose my raison d’etre for myself.We exist. We exist. We exist.
Sandals lying on the beach in autumn. The heater’s fueled by year-old oil.Though we can’t be sure when, we know the day will end eventually.We don’t know if we’ll be able to smile tomorrow. But at least we can promise we will.We’ll meet again in the uncertain future. I’m certain that it may be tomorrow.
Before the setting sun, all are equal. Both crime and punishment are dyed red. We are the Church of the Setting Sun.Everything disappears, and the fragile crumbles away. Limits, too, come to an end. We are the Church of the Setting Sun.
Whether humanist, or a racist, the sun will set as it does today.As the sun shall set again today, good and evil mean nothing to me.The red of the sun. The red of our deathbed. The red of the lies. The red of spilt blood.They are testament to the raison d’etre that I harbor within me.We exist. We exist. We exist.