The strange boots I had been polishing alone looked odd in the crowd.
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Bowing in a dance of talent, I move awkwardly.
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Amadeus, who shows his teeth and smiles, wouldn't understand.
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From somewhere, I hear someone's voice.
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It was the same as mine, a twisted and lonely song.
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Losing the melody, an improvised Lorelei; Bach rings from within a box.
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Dancing on a raised stage.
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All night I've been happy, and it's almost gone.
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I haven't seen anything else in those beautiful eyes.
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The strange phrases I pluck alone-who are they for, since there is no addressee.
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Only you take the steps, and I bow awkwardly.
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I can't meet Amadeus at a moment like this.
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Losing the melody, an improvised Lorelei; Bach rings from within the box.
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Dancing on a raised stage.
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All night I've been happy, and it's almost gone.
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I haven't seen anything else in those beautiful eyes.
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In the aria that breaks with anxiety and self-questioning, all of my body
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Is being scraped at and the stage is dyed.
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Is that really my color?
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Not resembling anything else; if I stay in that awkward form.
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Only in your eyes would it look like that.
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From somewhere I hear a different voice-my own.
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Probably I'll stay here forever; going in circles is fine.
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Voices after voices as the score is cast aside, Bach ringing in spirals.
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Dancing with a freedom so vast you can't catch up.
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Even if we stay happy all night, it won't run out.
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I haven't seen anything else in those beautiful eyes.
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That's probably how my appearance would look, right?
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