~Watanagashi~

The rain falling on my neck
stings like cursed needles,
But it cannot wash away
the blood on my hands; your face.
Comes the curse in the middle of night
with the festival that will only end
When the cicadas cry.

Reality bends to the breaking
as demons cut their hands
On a shattered clock running counter-clockwise:
the silent poison creeps over my bed,
The blade hangs over me as I lie...
but the nightmare can only pass away
When the cicadas cry.

And I am snatched away
to the raven feast:
The spectacle of my end,
fearing claws at my throat--
A Murderer-god deserves no shrine,
but what if the day does not come
When the cicadas cry?