12 selected songs from a catalogue of over 100 original works.
A new music video is released every 1–2 weeks.
After all 12 music videos are released,
The 1st Album will be available worldwide.
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♬ Open the morning paper… a town whose name I never knew has disappeared…
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Masaki Wakabayashi, born and raised in Kawachi, Osaka, shares the spirit of Kawachi Soul with the world.
KAWACHIAN – Kawachi Soul from Osaka, Japan
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🎵 KAWACHIAN 5th Song
News
Written, Composed & Performed by
Masaki Wakabayashi
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“News” is the fifth original song by KAWACHIAN.
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English Lyrics
Open the morning paper
A town whose name I never knew has disappeared.
In a tiny corner,only the black numbers keep increasing.
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Beside the weather forecast,it quietly says,
“Today will be calm again.”
Yet at the edge of the screen,only distant flames continue to flicker.
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On my way to work,the face reflected in the train window is slowly becoming more and more like somebody else’s.
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Passing through the ticket gate,amid laughter leaking from earphones,an empty can keeps rolling away, seen by no one.
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At lunchtime,wrapped in the silence of a single lunchbox,“It’s nothing serious.”
The words drift by like a signal everyone has learned to accept.
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After the meeting,only one chair is left empty.“There were…some circumstances.”
With just those few words,everything is quietly sealed away.
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The evening news.
As captions race across the screen,the end of the world appears as another bullet point—then quietly disappears.
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A child points and names the shapes of clouds.
Only the news anchor lowers their voice just a little.
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On my way home,the footprints of a dog along the riverbank are washed by rain,their outline slowly fading away.
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Somewhere,someone is ringing church bells.
Yet here,we write tomorrow’s plans on the back of a flyer.
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Late at night,I’m relieved the phone doesn’t ring.
Though deep inside,I’m still waiting for someone to call my name.
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Inside the refrigerator,an old bottle stands quietly,like a letter long past its expiration date.
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After my bath,I stare at the ceiling,tryingto predict tomorrow’s weather.
“Tomorrow,I’m sure…”
At least,that’s what I tell myself.
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With a single press of the remote,the world changes color.
Yesterday’s tragedy is buried beneath tomorrow’s advertisements.
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Beside my pillow,the radiokeeps talking somewhere far away.
Someone’s obituary is placed beside the traffic report.
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Closing my eyes,I whisper,“Good job today.”to myself.
Without ever waking,only the first train’s departure time draws closer.
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I open the morning paper.
Only the smell of ink remains exactly as it was that day.
Along the fold,my fingertips are stained with a trace of black.
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Turning the page,each gentle rustle echoes softly.
For a moment,I think I hear the distant beat of festival drums.
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That sound…I want to know where it’s coming from.
Even when I open the window,only the wind moves the curtain.
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Somewhere today,there are people whose names are never called.
Until they fall asleep,they quietly wonder what tomorrow’s weather will be.
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On the very last page,beside stock prices and horoscopes,a tiny headline goes unread by anyone.
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And yet,perhap someone will trace it with a fingertip.
As I quietly close the paper,I whisper once more—
“Today will be calm again.”
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