Among this heart, there are neither veins nor arteries

There is neither blood nor tears

Among this land, there are neither cliffs nor canyons

No mountains or valleys

Distinctness, you’d say distincting,

Is as often as the reddish knives curve

Kissing mirrors, or would it be breaking them?

Whatever you do, I won’t take it

Because among this relationship,

There is neither fights nor hugs

You don’t see it, do you?

Or how’d you see it, if there’s just nothing?

And how’d be there nothing, if there isn’t anything?