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A Grim Reaper’s Work Management
Vocals: Sugiyama Noriaki as William T. Spears
Lyrics: Kikuchi Hana
Composition: Tanaka Hidekazu
Arrangement: Tanaka Hidekazu

On Monday, I reap souls
On Tuesday, I have a Management Division meeting
On Wednesday, I summon the Grim Reapers to be dispatched

On Thursday, I have a pure white shirt
On Friday, I pick a necktie
On Saturday, I watch Cinematic Records

I quietly follow the perfect rules through the days
I won’t even allow hair to go crazy for a split second

I judge the foolish Grim Reapers
And hold all records of the dead
The soundless library, without a speck of dust, is frozen over

During the time when I carry out my strict job
And unravel my loneliness
The memories clinging strongly, blackly, and bitterly onto me are low and far away


On Monday, there’s melancholic rain
On Tuesday, I scold the delinquents
On Wednesday, I kick Grell Sutcliffe

On Thursday, I work overtime
On Friday, I have soul retrieval
On Saturday, I hunt that eyesore of a demon

I reject bothersome and incomplete applications
And I’m extremely displeased with the heaps of problems

The boundless waste of work
And other people’s stupid mistakes
Destroy the harmonious and glazed-over aesthetics

Deviation from the rules will not be allowed
May the disharmony brought about by idleness
Crumble, be smashed, and break; there’s overtime today on my soiled schedule, too


I finish my difficult job
And restore the order of steel
Embracing my far too composed rationality in the fog’s shadow

If the wall of Purgatory exists
Then I’ll certainly show that I’ll topple it
Even if my arms, my voice, and my nails are to be lost

If the delicate needles of the clock
Making music within the silence
Are the gods that govern everything in my heart

Then, unhesitatingly, I’ll cut and take lives
Fulfill, weave, and sing all harmony and hope
Even the words are frozen together in this dark world
How painful

Slave of Cammandment

The candlelight of death will lose its light.
The fact is that every memory will eventually stop.
The dancing black wind will cut and pluck blood.
The death gods' blades will raze
the scarlet in those eyes.


Rules of hard steel, records of perfection,
unchangeable fate, and unforgivable imbalance.
The demons are obnoxious beasts and unpleasant impediments,
so I will crush those scums and slaughter them in the darkness.


For everything to kill its own self,
and then to freeze up completely,
is death's ultimate hope.


I'll show you right now just how we're different,
and I'll make the demonic characters crawl on the ground,
as the death gods, shrouded in madness, fly down,
and chop up those garbage scraps.
A flawless job done!


Be it the noise of messing around or the singing for disregarding the rules,
I will dispose of them with my scythe of austerity.

Cut off and throw away
those demon eyesores' wings,
and then destroy all!

The records of death in the jet-black library
are complied with the arrogant power of death
and the blood of the requiem.
Yes, those are without a doubt
the pride of the death gods.


Ah, if only I could snatch the moon and the stars' orderliness...


"No matter what kind of complex laws..."
"No matter what kind of distasteful formidable enemy..."
"No matter what kind of excruciating ecstasy..."


Ah, please let the voice of these commandments echo...


"Be clever and cool-headed, and do keep a clear determination."
"Have hypocritical courtesy and shady etiquette."
"Damaging the flesh is intolerably haughty."
"Deceiving others' intelligence is rudely insolent."
"The brothel of memories is arrogantly obstinate."
"That 'punishment is for amendment' is a mere fallacy."
"The footprints of darkness represent total solitude."
"The blade of death is proudly impudent."


Conjuring sins, even if my regulations crumble and collapse,
I'll embrace my solitude beside me even more tightly.

With my scythe of order raised above,
I command the shadow at my steps.
Ah, without the time even to take a breath,
I can only keep enforcing the commandments,
the rules of being a death god.