Finally I've realized that it's been inside my right pocket all along.
Today's sky looks especially blue since it's completely cleared up,
as though it's made the entire world translucent.
Both for me, who believe it cannot be found and am giving up,
and for you, who comfort me by saying that it can be found,
the meaning of life does not change or vary.
If this melody, on the brink of dissipating,
could weave out just one unwavering timbre/memory,
then it will no longer matter if everything I've come to believe in
should turn out to be false.
Even if evidence of my non-existence in this place were thrust before me,
it has always been inside my right pocket.
Today's town looks especially dark and sluggish,
as though it's painted the entire world over with its color.
Both for me, who apologized, ran off, and hurt you,
and for you, who thanked me, smiled, and accepted me,
the meaning of life does not change or vary.
In this world on the brink of crumbling,
if I could seek out just one sure answer,
then even I, having gone through so much in the past,
will surely be able to begin forgiving others with smiles.
Words cannot fully convey what I want to express.
The evidence of our existence in this very place,
within this world that has started to fall apart,
just how much singing voice can it deliver?
If this melody, on the brink of dissipating,
could weave out just one unwavering timbre/memory,
then it will no longer matter if everything I've come to believe in
should turn out to be false.
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