His older sister vomits blood, and his younger sister vomits fire,
And the cute Tomino vomits his soul.
Tomino falls into Hell alone,
The darkness of Hell where even flowers don’t bloom.
Is it Tomino’s older sister wielding the whip?
The blood on the whip weighs on his mind.
Beating and striking yet not hitting at all,
There is but a single road to the eighth and most painful Hell.
Would you request guidance into the darkness of Hell,
From the golden sheep, or the nightingale?
Put as much as you can into the leather sack,
In preparation for the journey into the most painful of Hells.
Spring comes to the forest and the valley,
And to the seven twisting valleys of dark Hell.
The nightingale in the cage, the sheep in the cart,
And tears in the eyes of cute Tomino.
Cry, nightingale, in the forest rains,
He screams as loud as he can in yearning for his younger sister.
The cries echo throughout Hell,
And the buttercup blooms.
Through the seven mountains and seven valleys of Hell,
The cute Tomino’s solo journey.
If they are in Hell, bring them,
The mountain of pins and needles.
The red pins don’t stand out,
As a sign leading to cute Tomino.
