Paroles et traduction 鬼 - 無題

無題

木造アパートの一階で
彼は夢中で絵を描いていた
描きたかったのは自分の事
自分を取り巻く世界のこと
小さな頃から絵が好きだった
理由は皆が褒めてくれるから
でも今じゃ褒めてくれるのは
一緒に暮らしている彼女だけ
でも彼をそれで幸せだった
すれ違いの毎日だけど
彼女はいつもの置手紙
桜模様の便箋が愛しい
気づいたら夜が明けていた
気づいたら日がくれていた
気づいたら冬が終わってた
その日初めて絵が売れた
状況はすでに変わり初めてた
次の月には彼の絵は全て売れた
変わってくのは
いつも風景
誰もが彼の絵を称えてくれた
彼女は嬉しそうに彼にこう言った
「信じてた事正しかった」
「正しかった」
絵を買ってくれた人達から
時々感謝の手紙を貰った
感謝される覚えもないが
嫌な気がするわけもない
小さな部屋に少しずつ増える
宝物が彼は嬉しかった
いつまでもこんな状況が
続いてくれたらいいと思った
彼はますます絵が好きになった
もっと素晴らしい絵を描きたい
描きたいの自分の事
もっと深い本当の事
最高傑作が出来た
彼女も素敵ねと笑った
誰もが日をそむける様な
人のあさましい本性の絵
誰もが彼の絵に眉をひそめた
まるで潮が引くように人々は去った
変わってくのは
いつも風景
人々は彼を無能だと嘲る
喧嘩が増えた二人もやがて別れた
信じてた事
間違ってたかな
間違ってたかな
木造アパートの一階で
彼は今でも絵を描きている
描きたかったのは自分の事
結局空っぽな僕の事
小さな頃から絵が好きだった
理由は今じゃもう分からないよ
褒めてくれるもう居ない
増える絵にもう名前などない
気付けばどれくらい月日が過ぎだろう
その日久々に一枚の絵が売れた
変わってくのは
いつも風景
その買主から手紙が届いた
桜模様の便箋にただ一言
「信じてた事正しかった」
「正しかった」
「信じてた事
正しかった」
「正しかった」
「信じてた事
正しかった」
「正しかった」

Untitled

On the first floor of the wooden apartment,
He was absorbed in drawing.
He wanted to draw about himself,
And the world around him.
He had loved to draw since he was little,
Because everyone would praise him.
But now, the only one who praises him
Is the woman he lives with.
But that made him happy.
Despite their daily misunderstandings,
She always leaves him a heartfelt letter.
The cherry blossom patterned notepaper is so dear to him.
He didn’t notice when the night came,
Or when the day ended,
Or even when winter was over.
That was the day he sold his first painting.
Things had already begun to change.
The next month, all of his paintings sold.
What changed
Was always the scenery.
Everyone praised his paintings.
She was so happy and told him:
“I was right to believe in you.”
“I was right.”
From the people who bought his paintings,
He sometimes received thank-you letters.
He didn’t feel like he deserved to be thanked,
But he couldn’t find it in himself to be displeased.
The treasures slowly increased in the small room,
And he was delighted.
If only this could last forever,
He thought to himself.
He came to love painting more and more.
He wanted to create even more magnificent paintings.
He wanted to draw about himself,
Something deeper and truer.
His masterpiece was complete,
And she smiled and said it was wonderful.
A painting of the despicable nature of man,
From which everyone would turn away.
People frowned upon his painting.
The crowd left, as if the tide had receded.
What changed
Was always the scenery.
People scorned him as incompetent.
Their quarrels increased, and they eventually broke up.
The things I believed,
Were they wrong?
Were they wrong?
On the first floor of the wooden apartment,
He still draws even now.
He wanted to draw about himself,
About his ultimately empty self.
He had loved to draw since he was little,
But now he can’t remember why.
There is no one left to praise him,
And the paintings that accumulate no longer have a name.
How many months have passed since he realized this?
One of his paintings recently sold.
What changed
Was always the scenery.
A letter arrived from its purchaser.
On cherry blossom patterned notepaper, only these words were written:
“I was right to believe in you.”
“I was right.”
“I believed,”
“I was right.”
“I was right.”
“I believed,”
“I was right.”
“I was right.”