A keresés eredménye oldal 6

The last song about her

It would be better if I couldn't write songs,
And these ones didn't become something to you
But, maybe, other way, if it wasn't she —
I would be nobody with scars on my hands.
 
What if all of this was just a dream?
Maybe, I haven't come to mind after all of these pills.
I mixed up everything straying in my own dreams.
Maybe, she doesn't exist and I'm going insane?
Stop!
 
But, the jacket of mine that smells like your perfume.
The bought tickets are still in that pocket.
The paid book of that Murakami that was read by you, I know it.
And all these people remind me again.
Forgive me for telling them everything.
Forgive me for starting to fall in love with Reminiscence again...
 
In the city of hurrying people, I'll write the last song about her.
I'll write the last song about her... I'll write the last song about her...
In the city of hurrying people, I'll write the last song about her.
I'll write the last song about her... I'll write the last song about her...
 
You'll call me when I'll have just forgotten about you.
We'll be talking about the things we couldn't work out.
Hours will pass and I'll understand — you have to go.
And I'll tell you 'See you again' but you'll say 'Farewell'
Screw it! I'm tired of thinking about the past.
Carrying it everywhere just like stones on soles.
But a new day won't come in old patterns
Until you throw away everything reminding of her.
If the Sun leaves, I'll burn my body for you,
Not acknowledging what I'll do, who you are and what it is for.
Though, your sheets are the same as you, drabbled by someone else.
 
I'll throw myself down,
Throw myself to them.
It's up only to you: to catch or not to catch.
Hey, but—
 
In the city of hurrying people, I'll write the last song about her.
I'll write the last song about her... I'll write the last song about her...
In the city of hurrying people, I'll write the last song about her.
I'll write the last song about her... I'll write the last song about her...
In the city of hurrying people, I'll write the last song about her.
I'll write the last song about her... I'll write the last song about her...
In the city of hurrying people, I'll write the last song about her.
I'll write the last song about her... I'll write the last song about her...
In the city of hurrying people, I'll write the last song about her.
I'll write the last song about her... I'll write the last song about her...
In the city of hurrying people, I'll write the last song about her.
I'll write the last song about her... I'll write the last song about her...
In the city of hurrying people, I'll write the last song about her.
I have written the last song about her.
 

Trip To The Bottom Of The Ego

There is a mystical place in me
Something well hidden like that
An unexplored planet
A lost horizon
 
I entered the virgin forest
Like a native Zumbi
I dove deep into the ocean
As a Jacques Cousteau I left
 
Inexperienced explorer
First time sailor
I boarded open-breasted
Taking only the courage
 
Courage to fight
Face to face I with me
As one fights a brother
In the enemy army
Courage to face
Face to face me in the mirror
As one finds a brother
That denies you advice
 
Almost at the end of the road
A voice came to tell me
If you want to push on, beware
You will not like what you see
 
And the way back was hard
I returned empty-handed
In this ego trip of mine
I was not David nor was I Goliath
 
Inexperienced explorer
Traveler without luggage
I lost everything I had
And what I had was just the courage
 
Courage to fight
Face to face I with me
As one fights a brother
In the enemy army
Courage to face
Face to face me in the mirror
As one finds a brother
That denies you advice
 

Чайки

Самый прекрасный из сего мира
Ты показала мне алас,
Где в глазах моих запомнился тот вечер
Когда сквозь облака плыла луна
 
Где там чайки
В шуме своем разлетаются
И где мы с тобой
Встретились
Не забуду ли я
Те сосновые холмы аласа,
Чаек берег и
Тебя!
 
Буду ли я ещё в том прекрасном месте?
Услышу ли я ещё раз крики тех чаек?
Вспомню ли я ещё с содроганием
Невозвратные юности дни?
 
Где там чайки
В шуме своем разлетаются
И где мы с тобой
Встретились
Не забуду ли я
Те сосновые холмы аласа,
Чаек берег,
Не забуду ли я и тебя!
 

Matriarcas

The stories begin with men in love,
they all end up with women who saved them
of the death of the intellect, insects that stung them
of murky old legends they don't even want to remember.
 
And little by little we are positioning ourselves,
building barricades in the land of the alalas.
We in body and soul, we buying calmly,
us thing by thing without being able to confuse us.
 
We breastfeeders, we conquerors,
brilliant activists of everyday life.
And we who resist centuries of strength,
and we the matriarchs of the country of a certain Breogán.
 
The stories begin with a man in a trance,
they all end up with women who saved them
of the death of the intellect, insects that stung them,
of murky old legends they don't even want to remember.
 
We breastfeeders, we conquerors,
brilliant activists of everyday life.
And we who resist centuries of strength,
and we the matriarchs of the country of a certain Breogán
 

Grandparents Tell

There are people who often hide their virtues

Wolves Perish in Loneliness

.
I am alone in the darkness and the cold,
Where sad memories of you still take hold,
In aching's snare and worries' gulf,
Howling at the moon like a wolf!
 
Refrain:
Don't hurry to put a period to this!