A keresés eredménye oldal 4

Irony

Anxiety against patience,
Truth facing the lie,
Snake that leads the path
Of who try to follow,
Who learns to look what's in its heart
Will know well, it can fool you too,
Pride slapped the face of humbleness
And so it stopped being so innocent.
 
Jumping in front of you goes the irony,
With all our miseries on top.
 
Players who don't pay the piper,
Masks that still don't fall,
To hide their ignorance,
Is terrible, what men can do!
A love became the ideal jail,
Is ironic to believe that this is true.
The victory was losing, the defeat was winning,
To get what you want can be the worst, the worst!
 
Every cloud has a silver lining,
No fortune for misfortune.
A trophy that came really bad,
A mistake that it couldn't be avoided!
On the tunnel of love we met again,
Is ironic to believe that this is true,
At the shore of pain, at the turn of peace:
We stop kidding!
 

This translation by Diazepan Medina is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License. It doesn't apply to the translations with a source.

Not of This World

Just how much it all turned! How much smoke it took just not to see what was of this world.
With toes always curled, when they said: 'son, you know you're simply not of this world.'
Just how much it all turned, but all is nothing apart from poetry that is of this world.
Grew up with no clear return, but the label always stuck - son, you're not of this world.
 
Son, you're not of this world, excess, like a pen leaking ink,
As if someone dug a crop out, or just cut off a link,
From a chain, where every one is exemplary (I piss on them!),
Every link with this world is going off tangentially.
 
As the cuts were stinging, I heated up the sand,
And whoever I meet now, a barrier stands,
And you're pretty much fine, but, rummaging inside you,
On goes the search for anyone a bit like you.
 
Where the mindless, the homeless, the shabby ones,
The smoked out Cauldfields and twitchy Durdens,
Anhedonia, and Jared Leto's omens,
We're born to amphetamine, nu-metal and Baphomet.
 
You're the type that can't believe the hype - we're Peter Pans,
We grow from days of foam, but we don't grow right,
Raving from a one track mind, the minibus leaves for a mini-home -
In his image, God makes man.
 
Chorus:
Just how much it all turned! How much smoke it took just not to see what was of this world.
With toes always curled, when they said: 'son, you know you're simply not of this world.'
Just how much it all turned, but all is nothing apart from poetry that is of this world.
Grew up with no clear return, but the label always stuck - son, you're not of this world.
 
Books spread opinions, doubts come from within them,
And from doubt, laziness, and from there, oblivion.
Michel Houellebecq, de Lautréamont, even Necromonicon,
Again, this world's a target for payback.
 
DJs, tapes and decks - all that type.
Seems you're like bad wounds, infecting all life.
Of us, the city thinks the worst, one stab and then you're burst.
The truth is like a fungus - born from fights over this curse.
 
Where's Aldous fucking Huxley now? Don't you like this brave new world?
Then you're just a kid - back to the creche, get out!
Surrounded by defeats, and by failures, by cursed poets and those blessed with graphomania,
The knights of subculture, defenders of glass covers, warriors of lacquer, forgotten music lovers.
It's like this world hangs over a glass fucking panel, but I can see the light at the end of your sonic tunnel.
 
Chorus:
Just how much it all turned! How much smoke it took just not to see what was of this world.
With toes always curled, when they said: 'son, you know you're simply not of this world.'
Just how much it all turned, but all is nothing apart from poetry that is of this world.
Grew up with no clear return, but the label always stuck - son, you're not of this world.
 
Just how much it all turned! How much smoke it took just not to see what was of this world.
With toes always curled, when they said: 'son, you know you're simply not of this world.'
Just how much it all turned, but all is nothing apart from poetry that is of this world.
Grew up with no clear return, but the label always stuck - son, you're not of this world.
 

I pay my mistake

I pay a mistake
I still love you
As much as I regret
This can't change anymore
This can't change anymore
 
But always all the mistakes
Always be paid
But you were like them
Where cannot be reformed
 
I pay a mistake
I still love you
I can't further down my life
I can't further her down
 
But always all the mistakes
Always be paid
But you were like them
Where cannot be reformed
 
I pay a mistake
I still love you
As much as I regret
This can't change anymore
This can't change anymore
 

Édenkertiparty

Itt a Paradicsomban, drágám
Itt az Édenkertben, szivi
Nem tudod, hogy szeretlek?
 
Akarsz-e velem jönni,
A kezemet fogni ?
Akarsz-e velem jönni
ezt a vidéket bejárni ?
Kérlek, add a kezed !
 
Itt az Édenkertben, szivi
Nem tudod , hogy szeretlek ?
Itt a Paradicsomban, drágám
Nem tudod, hogy mindig hű leszek hozzád?
 
Akarsz-e velem jönni,
A kezemet fogni ?
Akarsz-e velem jönni
ezt a térséget bejárni ?
Kérlek, add a kezed !
 
Itt az Édenkertben, szivi
Nem tudod , hogy szeretlek ?
Itt a Paradicsomban, drágám
Nem tudod, hogy mindig hű leszek hozzád?
 
Akarsz-e velem jönni,
A kezemet fogni ?
Akarsz-e velem jönni
ezt a tartományt bejárni ?
Kérlek, add a kezed !
 
Itt a Paradicsomban, drágám
Itt az Édenkertben, szivi
Nem tudod, hogy szeretlek?
 
Akarsz-e velem jönni,
A kezemet fogni ?
Akarsz-e velem jönni
együtt az életen átsétálni ?
Kérlek, add a kezed !
 

The raindance

Black clouds above the earth and the stars gone.
The sky's utterly depressed and the moon mourns.
The moon doesn't wish to see that depression
and the stars look gone far away. A deserted land.
 
But you are above the rooftops -there- dancing
with the nomads of the desert the raindance.
 
My dream has been long gone and the stars are there,
the moon dances wildly above the earth.
At the crack of dawn, the sun seems to invade earth.
The sky blue is there, the nightmare is yet to come.
 
But you are above the rooftops -there- dancing
with the nomads of the desert the raindance.
 
Οι μεταφράσεις μου μέχρι ένα εφικτό σημείο είναι δικές μου. Δέχομαι βελτιώσεις μόνο αν θεωρώ ότι κάποια μετάφρασή μου έχει παράδοθεί ελλιπής ή εντελώς εσφαλμένη.
My translations are mine up to a considerable extent. I accept improvements only if I consider that any translation of mine has been delivered inaccurate or completely wrong.