Whitout atrace (en ingles) de The Gazette

I peel off my frail consciousness slowly,
So my footsteps won't make a sound.
I become ash, scattering into tiny pieces.
It's only this, nothing
Without a trace

The feeling that I'm aware of my ignorance
Is more cowardice than helplessness.
Crawling into the bottom of my mixed consciousness,
I ask my
"I cannot see my "

Burying your breath in the still season,
You, who waited for help, dissovled into nothingness.
The withered song you cannot hear
It's crying without exception.

My tears that fell for my loss
Will also flow when I endure this agony.
Just like everyone else who deserted you,
I close my eyelids.

My body that's entwined within the spiral
Is slowly, slowly twisting.
In my throat, there are thousands of questions that are like thorns;
I'm asking, "What can I save?"
My future is dying right before my

Burying your breath in the still season,
You, who waited for help, dissovled into nothingness.
The withered song you cannot hear
It's crying without exception.

The dense fog that refuses to clear
So the proof of your existence that won't
If this song reaches you,
You'll probably think it's hypocritical.

Burying your breath in the still season,
You, who waited for help, dissovled into nothingness.
I can't make my raised voice retreat so you can't hear it
I've come to realize that it is my sin.