I remember, when I was in the army,
Everything was cold and heavy.
So I was affected and trained.
To be as cold and lethalized.

Most people don't look at me normally.
Or I don't think even myself do, actually.
The bloods on my hand, the cold fingers
With my tip on the trigger.

And then he comes in, slowly but surely.
Grabs on my hand with no worries.
The finger on my trigger moves away.
The only time I've ever felt such traces.

I keep remembering, about his arrival.
I suddenly forget about my train arrival.
Because for me, the war is ended
When our hands are intertwined.