Lost in Translation revels in contradictions. It’s a comedy about melancholy, a romance without consummation, a travelogue that rarely hits the road. A relationship picture with elegant connective tissue; it’s brittle and real, focused on the nuances of body language and unspoken desire, while indulging in a cheeky bit of knowing absurdity when the mood strikes.
Telephone everyone in the place, taking off all that ever remains of you now.
There it is in the one that you know, any face that he lost in between the new low you’re all eyes.
All that she is holding, is nothing. fall, then you keep falling, until you learn to lose.
On the bed that was already made, he was all that would ever be left of you now.
Didn’t think you would know what to say, in a time that he’s taking it all away from you now.
All that she’s holding, is nothing. fall, then you keep falling, until you learn to lose.
fall. not far.
When you fall, you fall.