When the hydrangeas bid farewell, let's greet the summer breeze again.
Having moved far away from the town where I grew up, I've crossed the seasons.
Sometimes I try writing a letter; maybe there's a postcard somewhere.
To a familiar face, a few lines of nostalgia.
Churu-chu, how are you doing?
Churu-chu, are you busy?
What's the state of that dream we were frantically chasing?
If only we could drink the night away and say "it's unchanged," that would be the best.
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Over long months and trial and error, I've seen all kinds of scenery
I still haven't felt it yet, but I can remember it easily.
The day we laughed and played together.
Churu-chu, can you hear my voice?
Churu-chu, how's the reception?
Let's package 3,650 days' worth of melodies and words.
How about singing together, just for a change of pace?
And let's talk about the next chapter of that dream we were feverishly pursuing.
Let's do our best tomorrow too-toward the future that's there now, let's run forward, come on, let's go!