關於 existing meaning in english ，我們在網路上蒐集到這些相關的討論、資訊與評價

Từ công dân hạnh phúc đến quốc gia hạnh phúc :D

To our Dearest Friends,

We are happy to invite you to this special edition of Toa Tau Talks:

FROM HAPPY INDIVIDUALS TO HAPPY NATIONS

Register link: http://bit.ly/happinesstalk

The United States Declaration of Independence declared the rights to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness as sacred and undeniable for all human beings.

Well before this was eloquently put into words by Thomas Jefferson, the humankind had been pursuing happiness, as being happy is central to existing. That’s what we’ve come to this Earth for. Ironically, the more we pursue happiness, the less happy we seem to become. It's because we have looked for happiness in all the wrong places. We define it in the wrong terms.

Since when is a child’s dream reduced to a good job when they grow up? Since when is a nation’s progress measured solely based on economic returns, often at the expense of cultural and ecological well-being? Since when is a person's worth judged on the things they own? Since when do we “work hard long hours at jobs that we hate to buy things we don’t need to impress people we don’t like (*)”?

We, as individuals and as communities, are at a crossroad. It is all up to us to make the choice to be happy, and more importantly, to look for happiness in the right places, at personal and societal levels. We want to reclaim what’s most fundamental to being human: love, friendship, and a compassionate co-existence. We want to be mindful in everything that we do.

Join us for a spirited and inspiring afternoon with the world renowned speakers and educators Dr. Julia Kim and Dr. Ha Vinh Tho from the Gross National Happiness Centre, Bhutan, a pioneering country on making happiness a deliberate lifestyle and policy choice. We will redefine the meaning of happiness at the personal level and how it could be achieved in a balanced way. We will explore how GNH, not GDP, should be the ultimate goal of development. We will discuss how this model can be applied in countries with different political and cultural settings.

(*) A quote by Nigel Marsh

SPEAKERS

You could learn more about our special speakers here:
Dr. Julia Kim: https://www.linkedin.com/pub/julia-kim/44/736/368
Dr. Ha Vinh Tho: https://www.linkedin.com/in/havinhtho

EVENT DETAILS

This talk will be conducted entirely in English, with no Vietnamese translation. We have VERY limited space and can only admit 150 people. Please register to tell us why you would like to participate, and confirm by paying the registration fee. The online registration will help us organize the talk, especially the discussion part, better. We want to make it as interactive and useful for all participants as possible.

---Time: 14:00 – 17:00 Sunday April 19, 2015

---Venue : Nguoi Lao Dong Newspaper Building
2nd Floor, No. 123 – 127 Vo Van Tan Street, Ward 6, District 3, HCMC

---Registration fee: 250,000VND per person
Link to register online (required): http://bit.ly/happinesstalk

---If you need additional assistance, please email info@toatau.com or call our hotline 0917-961-071

TO PAY REGISTRATION FEE

You have two options.

Option 1: Pay at Toa Tau, 632 Dien Bien Phu, Binh Thanh. Please call ahead to confirm availability.

Opening times:
8:30 – 12:00 and 13:30 – 18:00 Monday to Saturday
8:30 – 12:00 Sunday

Option 2: Bank transfer. There are two receiving accounts. Please add a note to let us know who you are and what you are registering for. For example: Thao Nguyen Bhutan talk 3 people.

Techcombank
Account name: Nguyen Thi Thu Thuy
Account number: 19123821814011
Branch: Techcombank Sai Gon, Hochiminh City

Vietcombank
Account name: Nguyen Thi Thu Thuy
Account number: 0491000399857
Branch: VCB Thang Long, Hà Nội

Nobody’s Fool　　( January 2011 )

Yoshitomo Nara

Do people look to my childhood for sources of my imagery? Back then, the snow-covered fields of the north were about as far away as you could get from the rapid economic growth happening elsewhere. Both my parents worked and my brothers were much older, so the only one home to greet me when I got back from elementary school was a stray cat we’d taken in. Even so, this was the center of my world. In my lonely room, I would twist the radio dial to the American military base station and out blasted rock and roll music. One of history’s first man-made satellites revolved around me up in the night sky. There I was, in touch with the stars and radio waves.

It doesn’t take much imagination to envision how a lonely childhood in such surroundings might give rise to the sensibility in my work. In fact, I also used to believe in this connection. I would close my eyes and conjure childhood scenes, letting my imagination amplify them like the music coming from my speakers.

But now, past the age of fifty and more cool-headed, I’ve begun to wonder how big a role childhood plays in making us who we are as adults. Looking through reproductions of the countless works I’ve made between my late twenties and now, I get the feeling that childhood experiences were merely a catalyst. My art derives less from the self-centered instincts of childhood than from the day-to-day sensory experiences of an adult who has left this realm behind. And, ultimately, taking the big steps pales in importance to the daily need to keep on walking.

While I was in high school, before I had anything to do with art, I worked part-time in a rock café. There I became friends with a graduate student of mathematics who one day started telling me, in layman’s terms, about his major in topology. His explanation made the subject seem less like a branch of mathematics than some fascinating organic philosophy. My understanding is that topology offers you a way to discover the underlying sameness of countless, seemingly disparate, forms. Conversely, it explains why many people, when confronted with apparently identical things, will accept a fake as the genuine article. I later went on to study art, live in Germany, and travel around the world, and the broader perspective I’ve gained has shown me that topology has long been a subtext of my thinking. The more we add complexity, the more we obscure what is truly valuable. Perhaps the reason I began, in the mid-90s, trying to make paintings as simple as possible stems from that introduction to topology gained in my youth.

As a kid listening to U.S. armed-forces radio, I had no idea what the lyrics meant, but I loved the melody and rhythm of the music. In junior high school, my friends and I were already discussing rock and roll like credible music critics, and by the time I started high school, I was hanging out in rock coffee shops and going to live shows. We may have been a small group of social outcasts, but the older kids, who smoked cigarettes and drank, talked to us all night long about movies they’d seen or books they’d read. If the nighttime student quarter had been the school, I’m sure I would have been a straight-A student.

In the 80s, I left my hometown to attend art school, where I was anything but an honors student. There, a model student was one who brought a researcher’s focus to the work at hand. Your bookshelves were stacked with catalogues and reference materials. When you weren’t working away in your studio, you were meeting with like-minded classmates to discuss art past and present, including your own. You were hoping to set new trends in motion. Wholly lacking any grand ambition, I fell well short of this model, with most of my paintings done to satisfy class assignments. I was, however, filling every one of my notebooks, sketchbooks, and scraps of wrapping paper with crazy, graffiti-like drawings.

Looking back on my younger days—Where did where all that sparkling energy go? I used the money from part-time jobs to buy record albums instead of art supplies and catalogues. I went to movies and concerts, hung out with my girlfriend, did funky drawings on paper, and made midnight raids on friends whose boarding-room lights still happened to be on. I spent the passions of my student days outside the school studio. This is not to say I wasn’t envious of the kids who earned the teachers’ praise or who debuted their talents in early exhibitions. Maybe envy is the wrong word. I guess I had the feeling that we were living in separate worlds. Like puffs of cigarette smoke or the rock songs from my speaker, my adolescent energies all vanished in the sky.

Being outside the city and surrounded by rice fields, my art school had no art scene to speak of—I imagined the art world existing in some unknown dimension, like that of TV or the movies. At the time, art could only be discussed in a Western context, and, therefore, seemed unreal. But just as every country kid dreams of life in the big city, this shaky art-school student had visions of the dazzling, far-off realm of contemporary art. Along with this yearning was an equally strong belief that I didn’t deserve admittance to such a world. A typical provincial underachiever!

I did, however, love to draw every day and the scrawled sketches, never shown to anybody, started piling up. Like journal entries reflecting the events of each day, they sometimes intersected memories from the past. My little everyday world became a trigger for the imagination, and I learned to develop and capture the imagery that arose. I was, however, still a long way off from being able to translate those countless images from paper to canvas.

Visions come to us through daydreams and fantasies. Our emotional reaction towards these images makes them real. Listening to my record collection gave me a similar experience. Before the Internet, the precious little information that did exist was to be found in the two or three music magazines available. Most of my records were imported—no liner notes or lyric sheets in Japanese. No matter how much I liked the music, living in a non-English speaking world sadly meant limited access to the meaning of the lyrics. The music came from a land of societal, religious, and subcultural sensibilities apart from my own, where people moved their bodies to it in a different rhythm. But that didn’t stop me from loving it. I never got tired of poring over every inch of the record jackets on my 12-inch vinyl LPs. I took the sounds and verses into my body. Amidst today’s superabundance of information, choosing music is about how best to single out the right album. For me, it was about making the most use of scant information to sharpen my sensibilities, imagination, and conviction. It might be one verse, melody, guitar riff, rhythmic drum beat or bass line, or record jacket that would inspire me and conjure up fresh imagery. Then, with pencil in hand, I would draw these images on paper, one after the other. Beyond good or bad, the pictures had a will of their own, inhabiting the torn pages with freedom and friendliness.

By the time I graduated from university, my painting began to approach the independence of my drawing. As a means for me to represent a world that was mine and mine alone, the paintings may not have been as nimble as the drawings, but I did them without any preliminary sketching. Prizing feelings that arose as I worked, I just kept painting and over-painting until I gained a certain freedom and the sense, though vague at the time, that I had established a singular way of putting images onto canvas. Yet, I hadn’t reached the point where I could declare that I would paint for the rest of my life.

After receiving my undergraduate degree, I entered the graduate school of my university and got a part-time job teaching at an art yobiko—a prep school for students seeking entrance to an art college. As an instructor, training students how to look at and compose things artistically, meant that I also had to learn how to verbalize my thoughts and feelings. This significant growth experience not only allowed me to take stock of my life at the time, but also provided a refreshing opportunity to connect with teenage hearts and minds.

And idealism! Talking to groups of art students, I naturally found myself describing the ideals of an artist. A painful experience for me—I still had no sense of myself as an artist. The more the students showed their affection for me, the more I felt like a failed artist masquerading as a sensei (teacher). After completing my graduate studies, I kept working as a yobiko instructor. And in telling students about the path to becoming an artist, I began to realize that I was still a student myself, with many things yet to learn. I felt that I needed to become a true art student. I decided to study in Germany. The day I left the city where I had long lived, many of my students appeared on the platform to see me off.

Life as a student in Germany was a happy time. I originally intended to go to London, but for economic reasons chose a tuition-free, and, fortunately, academism-free German school. Personal approaches coexisted with conceptual ones, and students tried out a wide range of modes of expression. Technically speaking, we were all students, but each of us brought a creator’s spirit to the fore. The strong wills and opinions of the local students, though, were well in place before they became artists thanks to the German system of early education. As a reticent foreign student from a far-off land, I must have seemed like a mute child. I decided that I would try to make myself understood not through words, but through having people look at my pictures. When winter came and leaden clouds filled the skies, I found myself slipping back to the winters of my childhood. Forgoing attempts to speak in an unknown language, I redoubled my efforts to express myself through visions of my private world. Thinking rather than talking, then illustrating this thought process in drawings and, finally, realizing it in a painting. Instead of defeating you in an argument, I wanted to invite you inside me. Here I was, in a most unexpected place, rediscovering a value that I thought I had lost—I felt that I had finally gained the ability to learn and think, that I had become a student in the truest sense of the word.

But I still wasn’t your typical honors student. My paintings clearly didn’t look like contemporary art, and nobody would say my images fit in the context of European painting. They did, however, catch the gaze of dealers who, with their antennae out for young artists, saw my paintings as new objects that belonged less to the singular world of art and more to the realm of everyday life. Several were impressed by the freshness of my art, and before I knew it, I was invited to hold exhibitions in established galleries—a big step into a wider world.

The six years that I spent in Germany after completing my studies and before returning to Japan were golden days, both for me and my work. Every day and every night, I worked tirelessly to fix onto canvas all the visions that welled up in my head. My living space/studio was in a dreary, concrete former factory building on the outskirts of Cologne. It was the center of my world. Late at night, my surroundings were enveloped in darkness, but my studio was brightly lit. The songs of folk poets flowed out of my speakers. In that place, standing in front of the canvas sometimes felt like traveling on a solitary voyage in outer space—a lonely little spacecraft floating in the darkness of the void. My spaceship could go anywhere in this fantasy while I was painting, even to the edge of the universe.

Suddenly one day, I was flung outside—my spaceship was to be scrapped. My little vehicle turned back into an old concrete building, one that was slated for destruction because it was falling apart. Having lost the spaceship that had accompanied me on my lonely travels, and lacking the energy to look for a new studio, I immediately decided that I might as well go back to my homeland. It was painful and sad to leave the country where I had lived for twelve years and the handful of people I could call friends. But I had lost my ship. The only place I thought to land was my mother country, where long ago those teenagers had waved me goodbye and, in retrospect, whose letters to me while I was in Germany were a valuable source of fuel.

After my long space flight, I returned to Japan with the strange sense of having made a full orbit around the planet. The new studio was a little warehouse on the outskirts of Tokyo, in an area dotted with rice fields and small factories. When the wind blew, swirls of dust slipped in through the cracks, and water leaked down the walls in heavy rains. In my dilapidated warehouse, only one sheet of corrugated metal separated me from the summer heat and winter cold. Despite the funky environment, I was somehow able to keep in midnight contact with the cosmos—the beings I had drawn and painted in Germany began to mature. The emotional quality of the earlier work gave way to a new sense of composure. I worked at refining the former impulsiveness of the drawings and the monochromatic, almost reverent, backgrounds of the paintings. In my pursuit of fresh imagery, I switched from idle experimentation to a more workmanlike approach towards capturing what I saw beyond the canvas.

Children and animals—what simple motifs! Appearing on neat canvases or in ephemeral drawings, these figures are easy on the viewers’ eyes. Occasionally, they shake off my intentions and leap to the feet of their audience, never to return. Because my motifs are accessible, they are often only understood on a superficial level. Sometimes art that results from a long process of development receives only shallow general acceptance, and those who should be interpreting it fail to do so, either through a lack of knowledge or insufficient powers of expression. Take, for example, the music of a specific era. People who lived during this era will naturally appreciate the music that was then popular. Few of these listeners, however, will know, let alone value, the music produced by minor labels, by introspective musicians working under the radar, because it’s music that’s made in answer to an individual’s desire, not the desires of the times. In this way, people who say that “Nara loves rock,” or “Nara loves punk” should see my album collection. Of four thousand records there are probably fewer than fifty punk albums. I do have a lot of 60s and 70s rock and roll, but most of my music is from little labels that never saw commercial success—traditional roots music by black musicians and white musicians, and contemplative folk. The spirit of any era gives birth to trends and fashions as well as their opposite: countless introspective individual worlds. A simultaneous embrace of both has cultivated my sensibility and way of thinking. My artwork is merely the tip of the iceberg that is my self. But if you analyzed the DNA from this tip, you would probably discover a new way of looking at my art. My viewers become a true audience when they take what I’ve made and make it their own. That’s the moment the works gain their freedom, even from their maker.

After contemplative folk singers taught me about deep empathy, the punk rockers schooled me in explosive expression.

I was born on this star, and I’m still breathing. Since childhood, I’ve been a jumble of things learned and experienced and memories that can’t be forgotten. Their involuntary locomotion is my inspiration. I don’t express in words the contents of my work. I’ll only tell you my history. The countless stories living inside my work would become mere fabrications the moment I put them into words. Instead, I use my pencil to turn them into pictures. Standing before the dark abyss, here’s hoping my spaceship launches safely tonight….

The 99 Names of Allah in Arabic with English Meaning


1 Allah (الله) The Greatest Name
2 Ar-Rahman (الرحمن) The All-Compassionate
3 Ar-Rahim (الرحيم) The All-Merciful
4 Al-Malik (الملك) The Absolute Ruler
5 Al-Quddus (القدوس) The Pure One
6 As-Salam (السلام) The Source of Peace
7 Al-Mu’min (المؤمن) The Inspirer of Faith
8 Al-Muhaymin (المهيمن) The Guardian
9 Al-Aziz (العزيز) The Victorious
10 Al-Jabbar (الجبار) The Compeller
11 Al-Mutakabbir (المتكبر) The Greatest
12 Al-Khaliq (الخالق) The Creator
13 Al-Bari’ (البارئ) The Maker of Order
14 Al-Musawwir (المصور) The Shaper of Beauty
15 Al-Ghaffar (الغفار) The Forgiving
16 Al-Qahhar (القهار) The Subduer
17 Al-Wahhab (الوهاب) The Giver of All
18 Ar-Razzaq (الرزاق) The Sustainer
19 Al-Fattah (الفتاح) The Opener
20 Al-`Alim (العليم) The Knower of All
21 Al-Qabid (القابض) The Constrictor
22 Al-Basit (الباسط) The Reliever
23 Al-Khafid (الخافض) The Abaser
24 Ar-Rafi (الرافع) The Exalter
25 Al-Mu’izz (المعز) The Bestower of Honors
26 Al-Mudhill (المذل) The Humiliator
27 As-Sami (السميع) The Hearer of All
28 Al-Basir (البصير) The Seer of All
29 Al-Hakam (الحكم) The Judge
30 Al-`Adl (العدل) The Just
31 Al-Latif (اللطيف) The Subtle One
32 Al-Khabir (الخبير) The All-Aware
33 Al-Halim (الحليم) The Forbearing
34 Al-Azim (العظيم) The Magnificent
35 Al-Ghafur (الغفور) The Forgiver and Hider of Faults
36 Ash-Shakur (الشكور) The Rewarder of Thankfulness
37 Al-Ali (العلى) The Highest
38 Al-Kabir (الكبير) The Greatest
39 Al-Hafiz (الحفيظ) The Preserver
40 Al-Muqit (المقيت) The Nourisher
41 Al-Hasib (الحسيب) The Accounter
42 Al-Jalil (الجليل) The Mighty
43 Al-Karim (الكريم) The Generous
44 Ar-Raqib (الرقيب) The Watchful One
45 Al-Mujib (المجيب) The Responder to Prayer
46 Al-Wasi (الواسع) The All-Comprehending
47 Al-Hakim (الحكيم) The Perfectly Wise
48 Al-Wadud (الودود) The Loving One
49 Al-Majid (المجيد) The Majestic One
50 Al-Ba’ith (الباعث) The Resurrector
51 Ash-Shahid (الشهيد) The Witness
52 Al-Haqq (الحق) The Truth
53 Al-Wakil (الوكيل) The Trustee
54 Al-Qawiyy (القوى) The Possessor of All Strength
55 Al-Matin (المتين) The Forceful One
56 Al-Waliyy (الولى) The Governor
57 Al-Hamid (الحميد) The Praised One
58 Al-Muhsi (المحصى) The Appraiser
59 Al-Mubdi’ (المبدئ) The Originator
60 Al-Mu’id (المعيد) The Restorer
61 Al-Muhyi (المحيى) The Giver of Life
62 Al-Mumit (المميت) The Taker of Life
63 Al-Hayy (الحي) The Ever Living One
64 Al-Qayyum (القيوم) The Self-Existing One
65 Al-Wajid (الواجد) The Finder
66 Al-Majid (الماجد) The Glorious
67 Al-Wahid (الواحد) The One, the All Inclusive, The Indivisible
68 As-Samad (الصمد) The Satisfier of All Needs
69 Al-Qadir (القادر) The All Powerful
70 Al-Muqtadir (المقتدر) The Creator of All Power
71 Al-Muqaddim (المقدم) The Expediter
72 Al-Mu’akhkhir (المؤخر) The Delayer
73 Al-Awwal (الأول) The First
74 Al-Akhir (الأخر) The Last
75 Az-Zahir (الظاهر) The Manifest One
76 Al-Batin (الباطن) The Hidden One
77 Al-Wali (الوالي) The Protecting Friend
78 Al-Muta’ali (المتعالي) The Supreme One
79 Al-Barr (البر) The Doer of Good
80 At-Tawwab (التواب) The Guide to Repentance
81 Al-Muntaqim (المنتقم) The Avenger
82 Al-’Afuww (العفو) The Forgiver
83 Ar-Ra’uf (الرؤوف) The Clement
84 Malik-al-Mulk (مالك الملك) The Owner of All
85 Dhu-al-Jalal wa-al-Ikram (ذو الجلال و الإكرام) The Lord of Majesty and Bounty
86 Al-Muqsit (المقسط) The Equitable One
87 Al-Jami’ (الجامع) The Gatherer
88 Al-Ghani (الغنى) The Rich One
89 Al-Mughni (المغنى) The Enricher
90 Al-Mani’(المانع) The Preventer of Harm
91 Ad-Darr (الضار) The Creator of The Harmful
92 An-Nafi’ (النافع) The Creator of Good
93 An-Nur (النور) The Light
94 Al-Hadi (الهادي) The Guide
95 Al-Badi (البديع) The Originator
96 Al-Baqi (الباقي) The Everlasting One
97 Al-Warith (الوارث) The Inheritor of All
98 Ar-Rashid (الرشيد) The Righteous Teacher
99 As-Sabur (الصبور) The Patient One


[-- Aysha Khan--]

《SPARK-AGAIN》
Ash flame / 焰火餘燼
作詞 / Lyricist：aimerrhythm
作曲 / Composer：永澤和真
編曲 / Arranger：玉井健二、 百田留衣
歌 / Singer：Aimer
翻譯：澄野（CH Music Channel）
意譯：CH（CH Music Channel）
English Translation: CH（CH Music Channel）

背景 / Background - Memory - tarbo:
https://www.pixiv.net/artworks/66951851

版權聲明:
本頻道不握有任何音樂所有權，亦無任何營利，一切僅為推廣用途。音樂所有權歸原始創作者所有。請支持正版。

Copyright Info:
Be aware this channel is for promotion purposes only without any illegal profit. All music's ownership belongs to the original creators.
Please support the original creator.

すべての権利は正当な所有者/作成者に帰属します。あなたがこの音楽（または画像）の作成者で、この動画に使用されたくない場合はメッセージまたはこのYoutubeチャンネルの概要のメールアドレスにご連絡ください。私はすぐに削除します。

如果你喜歡我的影片，不妨按下喜歡和訂閱，你的支持就是我創作的最大原動力！
If you like my videos, please click like and subscribe! Thx :)

粉絲團隨時獲得最新訊息！
Check my Facebook page for more information!
https://www.facebook.com/chschannel/

中文翻譯 / Chinese Translation :
https://home.gamer.com.tw/creationDetail.php?sn=4911625

日文歌詞 / Japanese Lyrics :
うらぶれたシグナル　無暗に光らせ
果てない迷路　進んだってどうせ
a 9 days wonder　絡まった旋律
解かぬままリピートしたら　いつまでも　疼いて痛い

満ち足りない
変わりはしない？　この世界
心したいようにして　吠える勇気は　微塵もないくせに
愛されたい
すがろうとしてるの？　もういいって
澱んでくだけの思いこそ解けば

夜を撃つ　サイレン　夢想への SOS
全部　朽ち果てていいから
透き通った一瞬を　呼び覚ましてよ
ねえ　ここから　Ash flame　宿して抗え
どんな無様でも手を伸ばせ
苦い笑みも　ひび割れたくらいじゃ　壊れやしない

ぐしゃぐしゃ　丸めて心を　捨てようとして
的外れのまま　耐えるのには長すぎる滑走路
託されたい　変えようとしてるよ　どうしたって
だからお願い　あのフレイズを繋いでみせて

ぼやけたシグナル　両手にあつめて
急かすように　紡ぎだしたストーリー
a 9 days wonder　真夜中の不文律
ひとつも置いていかないよ　いつまでも　抱いていよう

夜を穿つ　サイレン　瞬くは SOS
どんなに　汚れ　削られても
夢という怪物は　美しいんだよ
何度でも　Ash flame　宿して刃向かおう
誰に追われても構わない
過ぎし日の cloud nine　宿命果たすまで　絶やさないよ

中文歌詞 / Chinese Lyrics :
落下深淵的破舊信號燈，僅是毫無意義與規律地閃爍著
心中不存在終點的迷宮，無論如何前進也無法改變
僅需曇花一現般的短暫，便能呈現內心糾纏成結的雜亂旋律
若不解開而任其肆意反覆迴響——便將深藏心頭隱隱作痛

「還不滿足嗎？」
「難道連一點變化都沒有嗎？這無趣的世界。」
內心故作在意一般，卻連一絲回過頭喊叫的勇氣都沒有
「我僅是渴望被愛。」
「現在還在乞求能夠被拯救嗎？差不多夠了吧？」
若能將陷至水底深淵的思緒解開的話——

在這夜晚響徹的鳴笛，將劃破夜空為夢想呼救
哪怕一切早已腐朽枯涸也無妨
在萬物沉寂，而能聽見聲音的那一瞬喚醒我吧
聽我說，就從現在起，哪怕此身由焰火餘燼所成，仍不畏抵抗
即便那是多麼不堪入目的模樣，只要伸出手——
就算僅能迎來苦澀的強顏歡笑，也不會只因些許裂痕而盡數毀壞消逝

想將蜷曲成團、早已碎裂崩壞的內心捨棄擲出
卻難以擲中目標，看來膽怯而緩和衝擊的跑道仍太過冗長
希望能受到託付，故仍試著改變紊亂的心，難道不行嗎？
所以，就拜託你了，請將那纏繞我心的旋律一同繫起

早已模糊不清的老舊信號燈，就用這雙手收集四溢的光芒吧
如此朦朧，彷彿受催促而編撰出的故事般破碎
曇花一現般消逝，於午夜的月光下不成文形
哪怕早已四散，我也不會拋下任何事物離去。不論何時，我都會緊抱所有

在這夜晚響徹的鳴笛，將轉瞬穿過夜空呼救
不論染上多少汙穢、不論被剝奪了多少
曾名為「夢想」的怪物，仍是如此令人著迷
我將不斷地化作焰火餘燼，緊握利刃奮力前行
即便遭遇他人追趕阻卻也無妨
為了重拾逝去的欣喜過往，在抵至命運終點之前，我永不停歇

英文歌詞 / English Lyrics :
The falling shabby signal recklessly sparkles.
There's no meaning keep walking in this endless maze.
A 9 days' wonder with tangled rhythm.
If you don't untie it and just let it repeatedly playing, you only receive more pain in the end.

Not satisfied.
"Still no changes in this world, huh?"
As if keeping in mind, yet I don't possess any courage to yell it out loud.
I want to be loved.
"Still begging for help? It's enough."
If I can release all those emotions precipitating like dregs in the deepwater...

The siren that blasts through the night is the SOS sent from a dream.
I don't mind if it has already died in obscurity.
Call and wake me the moment when everything is clear.
Hey, I'll resist like the ash flame existing in my body from now on.
No matter how clumsy I may look like, I'll reach out my hand.
Even if the result is a bitter laugh, it won't break just by some cracks.

I have thrown this twisted, broken heart away.
Yet I can't hit my aim, the runway that endures impact seems to be too long.
I want to be reliable; I want to change no matter what. What's wrong with that?
So please, help me connect with that phrase.

The fuzzy signal I collected with my hand.
It's obscure as if the story that fabricated abruptly.
A 9 days' wonder with midnight's unwritten law.
I won't leave anything behind; I'll hold them forever.

The siren that pierces through the night is the instant SOS.
I don't care how much it has been tainted or deprived.
The monster called "dream" is fascinating.
I'll move forward with the knife like the ash flame existing in my body, again and again.
I don't care who tries to chase and stop me.
I won't let the flame die until I fulfill my fate and regain those bygone days of cloud nine.