The more I seek love, I haven't fallen at all.
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I'm not in the mood to talk about the old days.
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If we sleep with our skin pressed together,
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We can get through the night,
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Rather than living a long life,
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There's nothing precious at all,
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I've long since discarded any wish.
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If I decorate the past with tears,
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It turns into sweet lies.
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Rather than that way of living,
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The pain lingering on my anguished fingertips.
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You could call it truth, I suppose.
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The more I seek love, I haven't fallen.
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I'm not in the mood to talk about the old days.
+
If we sleep with our skin to skin,
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The night can be endured,
+
Rather than living a long life,
+
If I decorate the past with tears,
+
It turns into sweet lies.
+
Rather than that way of life,
+