@styles
Dreams of old Japan
Sometimes I feel like I see through your eyes Wandering the streets of post-war Japan Through your fears, your pain, your grief, I taste your wet cigarettes on a rainy day I want to get drunk in a bamboo grove I want to write books about Marxist thoughts I want to read letters from Kazuko I want to die in a beautiful way Alas, I wake up to reality My connection seems to be but a dream But in my soul your torment lives on You inspire me to leave something behind And if my own words are left on my grave No one shall ever forget me again
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