I put on a blindfold and penetrate the world reflected in your voice
It seems I’m floating blindfolded in a sky with a sense of presence
I don’t understand what you really are
What would you call that kind of sleep?
Even though I’ve woken up, your voice is resiliently tracing my present
I don’t understand what you really are
Come over here with the continuation of that dream
No one can catch a glimpse of you,
So I don’t understand–your voice is just growing distant
If I were to die, and some part of me that lived on changed its shape,
Would it just be my imagination?
If you were here, I wonder if I would’ve been able to hear just a few more beautiful words
Is it just my imagination? Whose fault is it?
I can still hear it
I can hear it now