It's my left hand which I can't put into character

Whenever I shed blood

The reason I'm alive

In my hand even those I should love

Scattered brilliantly

Even if I engrave the meaning of living in my left hand 

I know it's as empty flower 

The final

Suicide is the proof of living

Continuing to increase one by one

Why do I turn into fodder that's unable to smile?

To this heart that is like a profound prison 

I can never return

Self torturing loser that can't experience the future

So I can't live

What is lost

Wont be born again

So I can't live

Even the proof of being alive

Cannot be sought by this song

The flower bud of failed attempts

make it bloom