For a thousand years, my Adam has been seeking
after the fragments of your sullied Eve.

Words, bestowing meanings upon this ordeal,
declared my despondent birth a "miracle".
My thrown-open arms will never become wings.
My soaring passion will never reach the sky.

Baring my fangs to the secret that's aching in the valley,
I must bring forth light
unto this scalding darkness.

For a thousand years, my Adam has been seeking
after the fragments of your sullied Eve.
You've been crying nonstop for me
to find you, to look away from you, and to protect you.
You need me, don't you, my sinner?

If we were born after we have come to know everything,
then let us kneel before the rapid pounding of our heart.
Is it okay to call this electrifying rampage love?
Is it okay to love
these false echoes and tears?

Dabbling lightly in the myth
in which we take a bite of an apple,
light must be blocked from
the void we've been trying to fill up.

My Adam is becoming flustered
at the fragments of your sullied Eve.
Whisper to me that you want to hug me
and that you don't want me to let you go.
It's okay to stumble with me, my beloved.

If we let go of our insolence and refusal to listen,
we will be able to hear music.
Clinging to the edge of the myth,
let's exchange a forbidden kiss.

My Adam has become restless
over the fragments of your enigmatic Eve.
Whisper to me that you want to hug me
and that you don't want me to let you go.
It's okay to stumble with me.
You've been crying nonstop for me
to find you, to look away from you, and to protect you.
You need me, don't you, my sinner?
It's okay to collapse into my embrace, my lovely.
You need me, don't you, my sinner?