Memories of a Girl

Lyrics

The country I love—
I love its innocent people.
Such a rich and beautiful land,
I love everyone there.

Whenever I wake up in the morning,
a dove is holding something in its beak.
Peaceful days just keep going on.

Do I have to say goodbye to memories like that?
Even though all I do is wish for peace—
I’ve never committed any crime.

Unease, fear, rage, madness;
suffocation, nausea, gloom, despair.

Won’t you listen to my wish?
What is it you want from me?

You’re immature.
What are you scared of now?
I don’t care if your enemies suck or if you want peace.
You have to deal with the reality of what’s happening right now.
Do your best.
Even if you have to lay down your life,
to make that memory of yours come back to life again.
You fight for those you love.
You fight for those you love.
You purify all your emotions. And just do your duty.

I feel guilty about doing my duty.
それでも踊り続けるしかない
命尽きるまで

あたしと踊りたい奴はかかってきなさい

これはあの記憶を取り戻すためのストーリー

愛する家族よ
愛する民よ
みんなどこかへいってしまったのかな？

あたしはここにいるよ
まだ踊り続けているよ
やっと分かったわ
あたしのやるべき事が

La La La La La La
La La La La La La
La La La La La La
La La La La La La

ああ、記憶が甦るわ
なつかしくて楽しかった日々
この記憶は永遠に失わない
蹂躙されても

Consideration

These lyrics read like a narrative told by a girl caught between an idyllic memory of peace and the violent reality that replaces it. The emotional core is injustice: she insists she has “never committed any crime,” yet she’s forced to abandon the life she loved.

1) The “country” and the “dove”: peace idealized, then corrupted

The opening celebrates a beloved homeland and “innocent people,” framing the song as a vow to protect ordinary life rather than a political manifesto. The dove—normally a peace symbol—“holding something in its beak” is deliberately vague. That vagueness makes it ominous: it could be an olive branch, but it could also be an order, a warning, or the sign of a coming catastrophe. The line “peaceful days continue” immediately flips into “Do I have to say goodbye?”—a sharp rupture.

2) “I’m not guilty,” yet the mind collapses

The stacked words—unease, fear, rage, madness; suffocation, nausea, gloom, despair—feel like an overload response, almost clinical in how symptoms replace storytelling. It suggests trauma: when reality becomes too much, language breaks down into raw sensations.

3) The rap voice: brutal realism (commander/society/inner critic)

The rap section functions as a confrontational voice that rejects the narrator’s wish for peace:

• Deal with what’s happening right now.
• Do your duty—even at the cost of your life—so that memory can “come back to life.”
  It can be read as an external authority (military command, wartime ideology) or an internal survival mechanism: a hard, cold part of the self taking over. “Purify your emotions” is especially chilling—an instruction to sever empathy and proceed.

4) “Keep dancing”: fighting, enduring, clinging to selfhood

“Still, I can only keep dancing… until my life runs out” turns “dance” into a metaphor for combat/mission/forced performance. Dance is usually freedom or celebration, but here it becomes compulsion—yet also a way to keep agency. “If you want to dance with me, come at me” is both a challenge to enemies and a declaration: I won’t be swallowed by fear.

5) From personal loss to collective loss

When she calls out to “my beloved family” and “my beloved people,” the grief expands from private tragedy to communal devastation. “Now I finally understand what I must do” sounds like acceptance—but it’s ambiguous whether this is empowerment or resignation to a role imposed by war.

6) “La La La”: prayer, lullaby, dissociation

The wordless refrain can be heard as mourning, a lullaby, or the moment when pain can’t be spoken. The ending—memories revived, never lost, “even if trampled”—becomes a final resistance: if everything else can be destroyed, memory becomes the last territory that cannot be conquered. But it also hints at the cost: living by memory when the present is unbearable.