On a Good Couple Day, husbands who suspicious, murdered.
Of the deceased, an eye drawn, to paint it crimson. Or, By the deceased, an eye drawn, to paint it crimson.
Waiting for the wind blows though, talking to me, rocks only.
One bundle of hers, wetting black hair, on my back making it crawl.
From fingers with webbings, Letting them falling down, 13 yens are.