My glass-colored reason's been tryin'

to create Seasons without reason, in

collusion with the rainbow-colored liar,

who once was alone sitting by fire.

What my reason only knows is;

In the emptiness of the Land of Roses,

an oriole with its broken wings will land

with a faint, subtle scent of the City of Sand.

O behold and behold!

Just as amethyst and melting gold,

the ghosts of metallic tragedy

are bein' reflected in the skin of eternity.

Dreamin' of a brain-binded billion dollar,

above me was a song of Gustav Mahler.

O my kindness, O my seasoned reason!

Have mercy on me,

　　tryin' not at all to be teasin'!

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