行(ゆ)き過(す)ぐ　亡(な)き身(み)の　群(むれ)を 帷(とばり)が　漆黒(くろ)に　染(そ)める 暮(く)れるも　在(あ)りし世(よ)は　帰(かえ)りはせぬと 譬(たと)えば　宣(の)らさるるとて 齢(よわい)は　誰(だれ)も　知(し)らず 明日(あす)にも　散(ち)り逝(ゆ)く　我(わ)が身(み)と　念(も)う 留(と)まれど　過(す)ごせど　重(かさ)なるが　随(まま) 辿(たど)りし　道形(みちなり) 遺(のこ)るものが　在(あ)るならば　悔(く)い乍(なが)ら 弔(とぶら)う　迄(まで) 嗚呼(ああ)　過日(かじつ)は　孔(あな)の海(うみ) 然為(さす)れども　積(つ)もりて　餞(せん)に　代(か)わる 萌(も)ゆれど　枯(か)れれど　重(かさ)なるが　随(まま) 辿(たど)りし　道形(みちなり) 遺(のこ)るものが　在(あ)るならば　笑(え)み乍(なが)ら 花(はな)を　手向(たむ)ける

The curtains color pitch-dark The passing groups of dead Ultimately, the days of yore will not return No matter what people may say Nobody knows the years they hold I trow I might perish come tomorrow Stopped, passed, yet overlapped The path I have pursued If something remains behind, regretfully I only mourn Alas! The days of past are a sea of holes Even so, they accumulate and turn into a parting gift Budded, withered, yet overlapped The path I have pursued If something remains behind, smilingly I lay down my flowers