Your philosophy major, it won't sell tickets
I remember you told me, my nymphet
I've shaped your beauty, your soul and your face
And you've haunted me from your cradle to my grave
Well, Mishima gone dead
Oshima gone bad
The bubble era of Japan
And as a dead man
I have a whale of a time
To contemplate my punishment and crimes
And I brought you up according
To their ideals, my darling
The color of your nipples are pink
And Avant-garde was our best excuse for nudity
So we made pinks
The Rise of the AV
In the mid-eighties
The decline of the Art Theatre Guild
Yoshida and his wife
Take a rest for a while
Hiatus was the new sanctuary
I quitted making artsy pinks
When the audiences needed more kinks
Oh no, they just want p**nography
And you could see, is it failed revolution?
While Masao Adachi residing in Lebanon
Join the Red Army
Or join the film industry
It's the question of to be or not to be
My name is mortal
But yours, it's immortal
You'll live on forever, my baby
Then the age of the Humanists
The International Hit
In parallel with Jean-Luc Zeze
Tsukamoto, Kore-eda and Sogo Ishii
And the Rise of Kitano Takeshi
Independents rejected me
Pink market no longer needs me
They said: You're quite too old school compared to your contemporaries
And by the d**h
Of Wakamatsu Koji
Post-2010, I asked myself
Do I still have that license to live?
Your philosophy major, it won't sell tickets
I remember you told me, my nymphet
I've shaped your beauty, your soul and your face
And you've haunted me from your cradle to my grave