The hangover remains from yesterday,
So does the vomit on the toilet wall
I walk around like a zombie in the tristess
All the time I meet new faces, which disturbs me
The bandaid stinks of wound liquid and pus,
But I can't help but smelling continuously
The wind blows cold, and I feel like jumping down
With the broken ice pieces
I have sent you a card on which it says "farewell"