He's twenty years old, he stands lookinf
At his long hair, which was so difficult to grow
He timidly grabs his diary
And finds a name that he researched yesterday
He looks at it for the last time
And says that he'll be back soon
Maybe if you stay, I'll tell you
We're lost in this reality
Maybe, someday it was necessary to pay
For this mistake
A witness sells himself without being able to say
I don't want to live this
Nobody invited me to come
The poor boy, alone in a corner
Whispers a song to the wind
That reminds him of his room.
With a very nice voice, a man tells him
Here, hard men like me are made
Hard men like me
We're lost in this reality
Maybe, someday it was necessary to pay
For this mistake
Months have passed, and the fear doesn't relent
And I can't hear him crying with his voice anymore
Mustering up the courage1
Mustering up, mustering up, mustering up the courage
Mustering up, mustering up, mustering up the courage
1. Literally, "making (a/the) heart out of guts"