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The afterimage floating in the moonlit night
is my transient black memory.
In a distorting morning of disgrace,
I sail a voyage of corruption.

If it's an unrequited love,
then at least let us bond in the other world...
I've been making that wish countless times,
like a beast hungry for your blood!

I am, after all Butler DEATH, always ready to kill you or our love.
The curtain that's dyeing the earth red, I'll kick it into pieces.
The cinematic records and the films of souls and memories
are what I earnestly seek, as I strum my blood-stained delusions.

Tonight I've just had a very faint dream,
where I delineate, with my sneering blade,
the eccentricity of the death gods,
in the moonlight.

The old folklore and also some red wine,
please allow me to feed them to you mouth-to-mouth...
As I dye that wish red with blood,
my trap starts to dazzle, as if to numb you.

And still I am Lady DEATH, always dressed extravagantly.
Being rained down by bloody tears, I dig my nails into the night sky.
In the analog cinematic records, we make lewd noises, heat hazes,
shrouded in drifting ecstasy, inflict woulds to each other, and then start drowning away.

I am after all Butler DEATH, a bright crimson butterfly.
As I send a red sigh into the empty air, it blows through and shakes the curtain.
The enticement of love stabs through the cinematic records,
while I simply yearn for a deep crimson dream in the eternity of a brief instant.