Translation by 2bricacityTranslations
The patients with only a few months to live
are supported by the IV of love;
The victim's sweet hopes are funerals
and the doctor's hesitant in showing their repentance.
The patients do not know how to live yet
and lie in their beds because of an unknown illness;
"a fever was the cause of death"--an indecisive arsonist
who should have noticed it in the early stages.
My heart is pierced with a hole,
but even though that should be the only difference
why do the blurred tear marks on your back
look as if they aren't going to dry?
This disease is called "love".
The patients in possession of love
begging to have their small lives prolonged
are companions who want to endure the rough
treatment of the perpetrators for those who remember.
The patients are strangled together
with a red string of fate in a flat knot
making it hard to breathe, so it can't be undone,
forcing them to depend on the anesthesia.
I just want to conceal the gap in my heart,
but even though that should be the only difference
I can't just replace it with any old gauze.
I'm dependent on your warmth.
This disease is called "love".
Deceived by a beautiful lie,
it becomes a flower not suitable to meet with.
I even mistook this slow-approaching death for a finale.
Bewitched by a sordid dream,
this sick habit torments me.
Feeling faint and breathless from my love,
I'm binded by the moment of death.
"The name of the disease was love."