[Instrumental]



[Verse1]

ボクの色って何色なんだろう
ボクの色って何色なんだろう
手元にあるのはモノクロの筆箱
使い古した白と塗り潰すための黒
これだけで何を描けって言うんだよ

[Pre-Chorus]

芯先折れたままのやる気
いつまで筆箱で眠らせてんの？
使えないままの希望が転がったまま
削りすぎて短くなったのは
ボクの命か　ボクの言葉か
ねぇ、笑えるよね
描きたい物もないくせに
消耗だけは一人前だ

[Chorus]

短くなった芯を握りしめて
書けない言葉をまだ探している
短くなって握れなくなるまで　
ボクはボクを削り続けていく
綺麗に塗れたって
それは本当の言葉じゃない
はみ出したその線こそが　
自分が生きた跡だろう？


[Interlude]


[Verse3]

失敗したって言ってさ
上から別の色を重ねて誤魔化した
その下には醜い自分が座ってる
折れた芯を拾い上げても
もうあの日の線は引けやしないんだ
消しゴムで消したって
紙の凹みまでは消えやしない

[Pre-Chorus2]

使い切るのが怖いからって
引き出しの奥に隠れて逃げてんの？
尖らせることさえやめて 影だけが丸くなる
削る痛みも知らないまま
綺麗なままの姿で消えたいか
ねぇ、聞こえる？
中身なんて空っぽのくせに
プライドだけは一人前だ

[Chorus2]

短くなった芯を握りしめて
飲み込んだ声をまだ隠している
短くなって見えなくなるまで
君は君を置き去りにしていく
正解に寄せたって
それは本当の声じゃないと知ってたんだ
震えだしたその手こそが
君が叫んだ証だろう？

[Bridge]

他人の色が羨ましかった？　
グラデーションが欲しかった？
バカを言うなよ　
混ざり合わないからこそ「個」なんだ
塗り重ねて、汚して、間違えて
その果てに生まれるんだ
既存の辞書には載っていない　
「名前のない色」を

[Final-Chorus]

短くなった芯を握りしめて
名前のない色を今
描いていけ
短くなって握れなくなるまで
ボクらボクらを削り続けていく
不器用な色だって
それが本物の言葉だと胸を張るんだ
はみ出したこの線こそが
僕らが生きた跡なんだ

[Outro]

ねえ、君の筆箱で眠っている　
その折れた芯はどうするんだ？
捨てるのか？　
それとも、また削り直すのか？
選ぶのは、君の手だ


✎＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿

✍English✍

[Instrumental]

[Verse 1]
What color is my color, I wonder?
What color is my color, I wonder?
In my hand is a monochrome pencil case.
A worn-out white and a black for painting over.
What am I supposed to draw with just these?

[Pre-Chorus]
The motivation with its lead broken,
How long will you let it sleep in the pencil case?
Useless hopes remain rolling around.
Is it my life or my words
That have become shorter from over-sharpening?
Hey, it’s laughable, isn't it?
Even though I have nothing I want to draw,
I'm fully professional when it comes to wasting away.

[Chorus]
Clutching the lead that has become short,
I am still searching for words I cannot write.
Until it’s too short to hold anymore,
I will continue to shave myself away.
Even if I could paint it beautifully,
Those wouldn't be true words.
Those lines that went out of bounds—
Aren't they the traces of your existence?

[Verse 3]
Calling it a failure,
I cheated by layering another color on top.
Underneath that, my ugly self is sitting.
Even if I pick up the broken lead,
I can no longer draw the lines of that day.
Even if I erase it with an eraser,
The dents in the paper will never disappear.

[Pre-Chorus 2]
Because you’re afraid of using it all up,
Are you hiding and running to the back of the drawer?
You even stopped sharpening it, and only your shadow grows round.
Without even knowing the pain of being shaved,
Do you want to vanish in a pristine form?
Hey, can you hear me?
Even though your insides are empty,
You're fully professional when it comes to pride.

[Chorus 2]
Clutching the lead that has become short,
I am still hiding the voice I swallowed.
Until it’s too short to be seen,
You keep leaving yourself behind.
Even if you conformed to the "correct answer,"
You knew that wasn't your true voice.
That hand that began to tremble—
Isn't it the proof that you screamed?

[Bridge]
Were you envious of others' colors?
Did you want a gradient?
Don't be stupid.
Because we don't mix—that is why we are "individuals."
Layering, staining, making mistakes...
At the end of all that, it is born.
A "color with no name"
That isn't listed in any existing dictionary.

[Final-Chorus]
Clutching the lead that has become short,
The nameless color—now,
Go and draw it.
Until it’s too short to hold anymore,
We will continue to shave ourselves away.
Even if it's an awkward color,
Stand tall and say those are real words.
These lines that went out of bounds—
They are the traces of our lives.

[Outro]
Hey, that broken lead sleeping in your pencil case...
What are you going to do with it?
Will you throw it away?
Or will you sharpen it once more?
The one who chooses is your own hand.