We met by fate
                                            Our luck has run out
                                            
                                            Softly, they spill away
                                            Even if I string words together
                                            The truth that lies within me
                                            No one can touch it
                                            
                                            As if cherry blossoms were dancing
                                            Farewell to this life
                                            Yet this body I got from my parents
                                            I hold this body dear
                                            
                                            More precious than life
                                            Smiling, bib-clad
                                            
                                            Wounds never cease; bring on a brawl
                                            Brace yourself
                                            
                                            Pull it out and put it back
                                            The sword and the sheath
                                            To sever is the way of the Shura
                                            In that rift
                                            Lies the fallen dream's
                                            Innards merciless
                                            
                                            Face to face
                                            The blood boils
                                            If we can share it
                                            Beloved, deliver the final blow
                                            You ought to pierce me with that gaze
                                            The bloom of youth is long past
                                            
                                            Basara, you men
                                            Hiding a lion on your shoulder
                                            With eyes blazing with killing intent, toward me
                                            You ought to pierce me through
                                            
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                                            Now, let us advance and strike
                                            This is a woman's privilege, indeed
                                            Though we bloom and scatter, we are together
                                            We are rootless grass
                                            
                                            In this world of mortals
                                            Mercy is of no use
                                            
                                            In heaven and on earth, I alone am supreme
                                            Don't you dare underestimate me
                                            
                                            To pierce through
                                            The core of my body
                                            A blade that shatters
                                            That void and
                                            Only in pain
                                            The heart lives
                                            
                                            Twisting and turning
                                            The breaths return
                                            Drawing a crimson hue
                                            Toward the path of the great demon
                                            Is there an end to it
                                            Is our two-person hell a Pure Land in the end
                                            
                                            Where did we meet
                                            The hundredth year
                                            Ah, farewell
                                            
                                            Pull it out and put it back
                                            The sword and the sheath
                                            To sever is the way of the Shura
                                            We still move toward
                                            The place is always
                                            Just a darkness ahead
                                            
                                            Face to face
                                            The boiling blood
                                            If we can share it
                                            Beloved, together
                                            Let us go
                                            The flower's end is splendid indeed