光に呼ばれる
mother calling

冬の日に温かな湿り気。
過ぎ去る木々がわらう。
「さぁ、手を洗っておいで」
あの優しい声は、暑い日ではなかったか。
いいえ、いつでも。
いつまでも。

Warm wetness in winter.
The passing trees laughed.
"Now wash your hands."
Wasn't that gentle voice on a hot day?
No, anytime.
forever.

Pass the scenery, goes on dank slowly.
"Welcome home, my boy. It was cold?"
She is in the gone summer dawn.
You, gotta go.