tsuchi #2

Za-zan, za-zan, it repeats.
The wave repeats, za-zan, za-zan.
Rolling in and out, rolling out and in.
Every cycle is the same.
Every cycle is different.
The time repeats, za-zan, za-zan.
Inside of me and outside of me…
Time flows the same.
Za-zan, za-zan, it repeats.
The heart repeats, za-zan, za-zan.
From the yet unknown time, from the ends of time, heading towards the origin of all tales.
But there are no words there.
No books in which they are written.
Nothing etching them out.
Only their traces fading away.
So, I shall gather them up.
The fragments of words, the fragments of books.
The fragments of places, the fragments of memories.
Last of all, the fragments of time.
I wonder what is in there?
What is written on those that have shape?
– Hope? –
Will I be able to see it?
Will I be able to hear it?
– Despair? –
Even so, I will play.
Even if the text has no meaning.
Even if I cry after losing a fragment.
Even if that place is ruled by nothingness.
Nevertheless, I will play.
At this place, the origin of tales.
From the ends of time to the yet unknown time, I will play.
For example, a tune such as this…

—

i finally have my pc back. all my amv’s, all my music, all my art… horrible as all the stuff is, it’s still me. it’s like i’ve gotten a piece of myself back. a bizarre feeling, kinda like what you get when you open up a diary you wrote ages ago. except… stronger.