Whenever my regrets flare up, my hands are always
In my jacket pocket
What were they, again? Unable to remember, I take out my memories
And stir them with a finger
Pretending I’m deft
Gone without a trace, what remains are the tangled things
That I can’t, that can’t be done
I mean, I told you, didn’t I?
That you can make a sad face, but it’s not my problem
And I won’t forgive you
I’ve messed up again
Facing a colorless morning and drawing a breath
I clasp my lean arms tightly in my pocket
The cuffs of my shirt have frayed, swaying in the wind
The children are in high spirits, disappearing off somewhere
Beckoned by the ringing in their ears
They’re probably off on their way to somewhere
All I could see were their backs
Did something good happen?
Hey, did something good happen?
Figured as much…
Our hometown’s been killed
“I want to be connected to you”, I say, facing each day with head hung
Clanging aloud, calling out, in my pocket