A keresés eredménye

The beasts

The riffraff has bred on a native land
The subhumans in camouflage without faces and eyes
They dictate their will to me by explosions
They press us by the horror of terror
 
The breaking news has chocked with blood
How the beasts are mocking and grinning a maw
Killing the kids by the name of Allah
It can do a real scum only
 
The beasts-they're not humans!
The beasts-they're not humans!
The beasts-they're not humans!
The beasts-they're not humans!
 
The row of black days
Revenge of water by the salt of tears
For those who lived hurry-scurry,
Maybe this woe focuses us in a fist
 
The beasts-they're not humans!
The beasts-they're not humans!
The beasts-they're not humans!
The beasts-they're not humans!
 
The explosions of planes and captures of schools
This is not a full list of 'glory' affairs
The beast has a gun and a safety pin instead of God
The beast can be healed by shooting only
 
The beasts-they're not humans!
The beasts-they're not humans!
The row of black days
Revenge of water by the salt of tears
For those who lived hurry-scurry,
Maybe this woe focuses us in a fist
The beasts-they're not humans!
The beasts-they're not humans!
The beasts-they're not humans!
The beasts-they're not humans!
 

My Generation

Two thousand of [long] thirteenth moons
[Are] wasted on a ludicrous game,
But light of [a] star that's long gone
[Is] still shining on.
It's so hard for you to believe that
Your path extends just from this wall to this wall.
Tell me:
Have you understood me or not?
 
[It's] a pity I'm weak as the witness had been weak
Who saw the events on Bald Mount.1
For I can foresee things,
But [I] have no way to predict.
But if you see, all of the sudden,
My eyes behind your window pane,
Know:
I have come to disrupt your sweet dreams. For it is,
 
It's my generation that keeps mum in the dark,
It's my generation that won't dare to sing,
It's my generation that's feeling the pain,
But yet again puts itself under whip.
It's my generation that always looks down.
It's my generation that's scared of [the] day,
It's my generation that cherishes night,
But next day it gnaws itself. Yeah!
 
Bright day of blue and green
Came where [the] thunderstorm passed.
It's such a magnificient fete day,
But it seems incomplete without us.
It's so hard to make up your mind, you're so used to
Weigh your odds: to go for or against.
Get this:
I give you but a chance.
 
Being alive is my only trade,
[Yes], it's defiance, but it's in my blood.
I can read in the clouds the names of all those,
Those who are able to fly.
And if you ever feel the pulse,
Electrical pulse of [the] Greatest [True] Love,
Know:
I have come to help you to rise. For it is,
 
It's my generation that keeps mum in the dark,
It's my generation that won't dare to sing,
It's my generation that's feeling the pain,
But yet again puts itself under whip.
It's my generation that always looks down.
It's my generation that's scared of [the] day,
It's my generation that cherishes night,
But next day it gnaws itself. Yeah!
 
Yeah!
 
Hey!
Generation, respond:
Can you hear us? Can you hear us?
We're here!
 
Hey, my generation, hey!
Hey, my generation, hey!
Hey, my generation, hey!
We're here!
 
Hey, my generation, hey!
Hey, my generation, hey!
Hey, my generation, hey!
Uh!
 
Hey, my generation, hey!
Hey, my generation, hey!
Hey, my generation, hey!
We're here!
 
Hey, my generation, hey!
Hey, my generation, hey!
Hey, my generation, hey!
 

• 1. Bald Mountain: in Slavic folklore, a gathering place for Witches' Sabbath

© St.Sol @ LT: all rights reserved.

Wave

[Couplet 1]
 
Here comes a wave! Hold your walls,
Bury yourself in mud or moss
Here comes a wave! Shut off all the lights,
Close the blinds and hold your breath!
New words come from long-forgotten songs
A new symbol, a new round
Here comes a wave! Stay together!
Or bury your head like an ostrich!
 
[Chorus]
 
Here comes a wave!
Wave!
Wave!
Wave!
 
[Couplet 2]
 
Here comes a wave! Shutdown the city
We’ll need somebody else to close the ring
Here comes a wave! The circus is assembled
But the clowns still hide their faces
New portraits discovered from the attic
New steps, a new frontier….
Here comes a wave! Name yourself,
Or make a disguise to change case
 
[Chorus]
 
Here comes a wave!
Wave!
Wave!
Wave!
 
[Couplet 3]
 
Yet someone is looking over the edge, all the time
They simulate dreams
They call the names of those
Who will go
On the crest of a new wave!
 
[Chorus]
 
Here comes a wave!
Wave!
Wave!
Wave!
 
To me, music is a form of speech, and just like speech, music should be heard to all regardless of barriers in place. So by translating you're letting other people open up to a world that is alien to them, a world where many who listen to the Russian, German and French music I listen to, is not strange or weird because they do not understand what the singer is singing. By having translations music can share cultural and political ideas, or really just ideas, around without barrier, and allow for discussion over meaning and purpose instead of trivial pursuit.

Angel

Starting a path is always easy,
And ending is difficult.
You've been invited to circle of chosens,
You prefer to be encircled.
 
There is no deep in emptiness,
An upward road is burning in fault flame.
 
This power, leading the land,
Aiming to keep the battle,
But in combat of life
Everybody fight themselves.
 
A blast is growing up all over the earth,
One for all, as a symbol, as a gush:
 
Angel with a burned wing is crossing your world
He is turning solid curves of borders to a dotted lines,
Easily proving security of all states,
Angel with a burned wing - envoy of Fire power!
 
Everybody are in black, but not in mourning,
Just feel a vague pain.
In the world of digits and counting
Zero is the leader
 
This areas are increasing a gloom,
No way out from tenacious paws
 
Angel with a burned wing equalizes the first and the sixths,
He is the last who looks in the eyes, reflecting in them,
Redeeming in fire every pride of the zeros,
Angel with a burned wing - pain of Fire, ray of Love in the earth!
 
Starting a path is always easy,
And ending is difficult.
You've been invited to circle of chosens,
You prefer to be encircled.
 
There is no deep in emptiness,
An upward road is burning in fault flame.
 
Angel with a burned wing is laughing to beast's face
Encircling every pride of this world,
Playing, he cancels every whim of earth
Angel with a burned wing - the last argument of Love!
Angel with a burned wing - the gift of Sky, eonian of Sky!
 

The Soul

In a cemetery, shrouded by mist, a shadowy soul wandered,
Along with a storm it howled at the moon, dragging its wings.
And for the spirit to rise above the earth there was no strength,
For a burden within was much too heavy.
 
It had flown away into wild joy and had failed to return,
It was about to grieve when it was buried in the snow,
Oh, the spirit went beyond limits, distending its body...
And, alas, the Russian Man had given it his complete trust.
 
By death crushed, by life beaten,
The herd of horses of our senselessness
Along the precipice flies,
By chance, at random.
 
Likewise, in all of Russia wander unrepentant spirits
The souls of those whose will failed to restrain them,
Those who cared only for themselves, in mirrors having admired their greatness.
 
Indeed, they tried to conquer and break the life-branch.
 
By death crushed, by life beaten,
The herd of horses of our senselessness
Along the precipice flies,
By chance, at random. Yes.
 
So many years, and nothing has changed, we fill unease with unease,
Overseas we search for the sparkle of a copper coin.
Would it not be truly profitable to raise our gaze, if only for one minute
And witness the burning inside of the soul.
 
By death crushed, by life beaten,
The herd of horses of our senselessness
Along the precipice flies,
By chance, at random.