Soulsoup by Official hige dandism

 

https://music.apple.com/nz/album/soulsoup/1717747958?i=1717747959

 

 

I like this song.

 

 

It seems that in life,
we all have to drink at least one bowl
of despair-flavored soup.

A homemade disaster—
seasoned with laziness and complaints—
now sits before me, steaming,
its dangerous colors swirling together.

When I took a breath,
I could smell the roasted scent of outside voices.
Reflected in the silver spoon
was a distorted face glaring back at me—
as if to say,
“You’re not good enough for this.”

I shut off every unnecessary sense.
My reckless ideals stab deep into my gut,
yet together with the bitterness of this modern age,
it’s strangely addictive.

I know I’ve got a “weird taste” for this kind of thing—
no one has to tell me that.
But with every thank you for the meal,
I want to reclaim what it means to be myself.

Shaking fingers, a sweaty collar—
pain, exhaustion, and failure.
Even if I grieve or reject them,
things won’t get any better now.

With every gulp, the thirst only grows,
raising a foamy, eerie toast—
I’ll drink it down to the very last drop, yeah!

The portions have grown larger
than when I used to live alone.
It’s not the kind of atmosphere
where I can just say “I give up,” is it?

But even if someone told me,
“You can live all on your own now,”
I wouldn’t choose that—
because I never want to go without these days with you.

With every thank you for the meal,
I want to house that feeling again:
a heat that can reboil a heart
that’s cooled by sighs.

Shaking fingers, a sweaty collar—
pain, exhaustion, and failure.
I’ve grieved them, I’ve rejected them,
but haven’t I grown tired of giving up by now?

With every swallow, the thirst increases.
Coughing on this eerie, bubbling toast—
isn’t that what life really is?

In the days that follow,
when worries and sorrows boil over,
when I feel like spilling them all across the table—
don’t stop the spoon.
Keep going. Keep the thirst alive.
Raise a toast to every future to come.

Give me a shard of destiny—
hidden somewhere deep in this world—
I’ll scoop it up (and then)
drink it down to the very last drop, yeah!