From the day the birth cry rose, we were all alike,
We lay on our backs, gazing at the sky.
The color of longing reflected in your eyes grew deeper,
As you drifted farther away, I kept watching you.
The thing I had kept dreaming of,
Even if it becomes ash and vanishes,
Still you go on and conquer.
I'm praying.
Burning red, red and uneven.
A small flame trembles deep in the depths of my chest.
The boy who painted the sky spread his wings, as his longing remained.
Together with countless wounds.
Since the day the birth cry rose, above us,
There was a high, blue, towering sky.
To cloud the color of the longing reflected in your eyes,
How many clouds drifted by, blocking the sky?
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The thing I had continued to dream of,
Even if it runs away like that moon,
The star-filled sky has shone on you.
It flies through the dark, deep blackness.
Just continuing onward toward where the wind blows.
Carrying no one's wish,
I only spread my wings for him.
I had forgotten the pain of the wounds, too.
So that the drifting dreams do not slip away,
The heart we had bound together was assailed by the headwind.
Yet you smiled.
It's okay to stay just as you are.
May you fly anywhere you wish.
Burning red, red and uneven.
A small flame trembles deep in my chest.
The boy who drew the sky spread his wings, as his longing remained.
Along with countless wounds.