The truth of an empty friendship, a rare emotion
Woven into a rare patchwork that takes refuge
Beneath the terrors of twilights and funeral beds
Still carrying on with private accounts, a risky chance
Therefore, I falter no frolic that is convenient
Throughout the whole story of each conversation
Recalling and confusing and hating and accusing
For a while, it was ~hand to hand~ between us both
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem