In an empty classroom, “Everbody’s died,” she arbitrarily can and does decide,
And always on her—never put down—is that old trusty recorder that she now fetches out.
She can’t even play, (but)
“I am a flutist,” she says.

And that means,
365 days always she is cringe.
Purely shit at music, too desperate to pity.
365 days by tooting a recorder,
‘Someday cherry petals maybe will rain on this scene,’
That somebody will someday notice me,
Hopeful hoping her eyes glance furtive as screeches,
Dancing, waft around her.

In an empty classroom, everybody got together finally to put the flowers on her desk,
But for someone even death would find unworthy all it means is she’s been left behind, she says.
And she bawls her eyes out,
The ballad of hayfever.

And that means,
365 days always she is cringe.
Wearing braids for children, to say she’s a virgin.
365 days by tooting a recorder,
‘Someday cherry petals maybe will rain on this scene,’
Between sniffles goes a ‘doot-doot’ flying windward to
Springtime breeze sweeping sound to ears as screeches,
Dancing, waft around her.

Gracefully, gracefully, dancing throughout the breeze,
Do crimson bloomed petals spatter down in her rage.
Going outside the window, target on the blue sky,
Sick by her intensity and leaping out to soar.
Season by season, working four days of seven,
Louder and louder the notes project out.
The puffs of her breath yet continue, continue
And carry a spirit, juvenile.

The puffs of her breath yet continue, continue
As crimson bloomed petals surging across the sky.
So lonely it’s crushing, just a gasp from dying,
Melodic note her best friend hand-in-hand spans to all the world.
Season by season, working four days of seven,
Louder and louder the notes project out.
For the air of your fever, juvenile spirit, testify about you.

Keep pweeting on, Hana-chan.
Even if your snot-nosed dribbly melodies, for argument were to be mocked by those total
Assholes in your class, even so go on.
Keep pweeting away, Hana-chan!
And you being you I wouldn’t doubt it, there’ll be countless times you’ll still break down crying,
But play, to bring all flutists pride!