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It didn’t work out, my love, I couldn’t learn how to live.

I began with enthusiasm, but left it half-finished.

I couldn’t find a way; I grew narrow, believe me.

Now, to the next one...

People said, “You’ll get used to it with time.”

I got used to time, but never to myself.

The same thing always lingered in my mind—not me;

Perhaps that’s why I became numb.

Maybe I achieved some things,

But I don’t know what good they did.

I wanted silence, not applause,

Because in silence I could hear myself.

It didn’t work out, my love, I couldn’t learn how to live.

I began with enthusiasm, but left it half-finished.

I couldn’t find a way; I grew narrow, believe me.

Now, to the next one.

Sometimes I wonder,

what if no one notices?

Perhaps nonexistence is better than existence.

Perhaps my most peaceful state,

is when they never hear my name.

I’m tired of trying.

I don’t even love my effort anymore.

Whenever I try to walk, I can’t tie my shoes.

A knot always remains—one I don’t want to untangle,

one I wish I could untangle but cannot...

It didn’t work out, my love, I couldn’t learn how to live.

I began with enthusiasm, but left it half-finished.

I couldn’t find a way; I grew narrow, believe me.

Now, to the next one,

To the next oneeeee!