I have buried you in every place I've been, you keep ending up in my shaking hands.

Perhaps it isn't love when I say you are what I love the most - you are the knife I turn inside myself, this is love. This, my dear, is love.

From the moment I saw her,
I knew she was worth the broken heart.

It all comes down to the last person you think of at night.
That's where your heart is.

O tired heart, why do you offer yourself to a harsh world, knowing that it will break you?.

In loving me, you hold a knife against my throat. In loving you, I tell you exactly where to cut.

It's strange. I felt less lonely when I didn't know you.

Go then and find your refuge of selfless love.
I'll go and search the monasteries one by one.

In thousands of agonies, I exist.

Buried in your thoughts, I am detached from the chaos of the world.

You'll meet someone that makes you regret your kindness.

Ever since my house burnt down
I see the moon more clearly.

What if I slept a little more and forgot about all this nonsense.

Hurting them back will not heal your pain.

But, we must never hope in anything.
Hope is a terrible thing.

Her heart chooses to feel what her mind chooses to ignore.

Look into my eyes,
hear the words I can't say.

And I am out with lanterns, looking for myself.

You made me believe in something that was not even true.

As if the clay you were made of,
was kneaded with rose water.

But why does everything you bring close to your heart must hurt so much?