The patients with only a few months to live
Are supported by the IV of love;
The victim's sweet hopes are funerals
And the doctor's hesitant in showing their repentance
The patients do not know how to live yet
And lie in their beds because of an unknown illness;
"A fever was the cause of the death"--
An indecisive arsonist who should have noticed it in early stages

My heart is pierced with a hole
But even though that should be the only difference
Why do the blurred tear marks on your back
Look like as if they aren't going to dry?

This disease is called "love"

The patients in possession of love
Begging to have their small lives prolonged
Are companions who want to endure
The rough treatment of the perpetrators for those who remember
The patients are strangled together
With a red string of fate in a flat knot
Making it hard to breathe, so it can't be undone
Forcing them to depend on the anesthesia

I just want to conceal the gap in my heart
But even though that should be the only difference
I just can't replace it with any old gauze
I'm dependent on your warmth

This disease is called "love"

Deceived by a beautiful lie
It becomes a flower not suitable to meet with
I even mistook this slow-approaching death
For a finale
Bewitched by a sordid dream
This sick habit torments me
Feeling faint and breathless from my love
I'm binded by the moment of death

"The name of the disease was love"