On Monday I reap souls.
On Tuesday I hold a meeting of the management team.
On Wednesday I summon the dispatched death gods.
On Thursday I wear a pure-white shirt.
On Friday I select a good necktie.
On Saturday I watch cinematic records.

These flawless rules must be quietly obeyed daily.
I won't allow even a brief hair-sized disturbance.

I discipline the foolish death gods and keep all the death records,
as the dust-free soundless library freezes solid.
After I've strictly finished my work, and have only loneliness to unravel,
my firmly darkly bitterly clinging memories grow low and distant.

On Monday there is a depressing rain.
On Tuesday I scold the rule-violators.
On Wednesday I kick Grell Sutcliff.
On Thursday I work overtime.
On Friday I retrieve souls.
On Saturday I hunt those demon eyesores.

I decline all the annoyingly incomplete applications,
but the piles of problems waiting for me are extremely unpleasant.

The endlessly pointless work and the stupid mistakes made by others
will disrupt the balance of the aesthetics of the glass walls and ceiling.
These unforgivable deviations, this imbalance caused by laziness,
and my schedule crumbled, ripped, torn, and soiled... I'll have to work overtime again today.

I complete the difficult tasks and restore the order of hard steel.
I embrace closely my cool-headed rationality in mist's shadow.
I'll take down purgatory's wall if there should ever be one,
even if I might end up losing my arms, my voice, and my nails.

That delicate clock's hands are playing music in the stillness;
if only that clock is the god governing the entirety of my heart...
I'll kill lives without hesitation. Grant, weave, and praise
the balance and hope of all, in this dark world where even words glaciate,
grievously.