A keresés eredménye

A woman with a woman

Versions: #1
Two women holding hands
Nothing is shocking about that
But when it's done under the table
That's when suspicion arises
When they are alone
Since they have nothing to lose
After the hands, the rest of the skin
A love that is secret
Even naked, they couldn't hide it
So for the outsider's eye
In the street they mask it as friendship
One of them says it's wrong
The other says better to let them talk
What they think or say couldn't change anything
Who catches doves mid-flight?
Together so close to the ground
A woman with a woman
 
I don't want to judge them
I don't want to cast the first stone
And if when I push the door
I see them kissing in the living room
I will not dare to cough
If it bothers me, I can go away
With my stones they would build a fortress
Who catches doves mid-flight?
Together so close to the ground
A woman with a woman
 
One of them says it's wrong
The other says better to let them talk
What they think or say couldn't change anything
Who catches doves mid-flight?
Together so close to the ground
A woman with a woman
Oh oh oh oh oh oh
Who catches doves mid-flight?
Together so close to the ground
A woman with a woman
 

'Eungenio' Salvador Dalí

Versions: #1
Dalí blurs himself.
His bubble shivers
when deducting heartbeats.
Dalí loses his colour
because this washer
doesn't distinguish fabrics.
He realises
and, scared, he grumbles:
'Geniuses shouldn't die'.
There are more than eighty,
the ones curving your skeleton.
'Eungenio'1 Salvador Dalí.
 
A rocococo2 mustache
from where the genius ends
to where the madman begins.
A dazzled look
from where the madman ends
to where the fairy begins.
Inside your head, beauty is compressed
as if it was a pressure cooker.
It's the vapour coming out through the weight,
a magical light in Cadaqués3.
 
If you reincarnate in something,
do it as a pencil or a paintbrush
and the silky-skin Gala4
may do so as a canvas or as paper.
If you reincarnate in flesh,
reincarnate again as yourself
'cause we're short of geniuses.
'Eungenio' Salvador Dalí.
 
Realist and Surrealist
with the light of an Impressionist
and an impressive stroke.
A colouristic delusion,
synthetic tears and an oculist
with delirious eyes.
In your palette, you mix mystical ascetics
with bayonets and breasts
and inside your brain, Gala, God and pesetas,
a good Catalan hermit.
 
If you reincarnate in something,
do it as a pencil or a paintbrush
and the silky-skin Gala
may do so as a canvas or as paper.
If you reincarnate in flesh,
reincarnate again as yourself.
We want alive geniuses.
We want you to be here,
'Eungenio' Salvador Dalí.
 

• 1. 'Eungenio' is a wordplay that sounds like the Spanish name 'Eugenio' but mixing it up with the Italian sentence 'È un genio', which means, 'He's a genius'. I decided to leave it as 'Eungenio' in the translation for in the lyrics it is used as if it was a nickname.
• 2. Refers to the Rococó style from the eighteenth century, characterised by a lot of decoration.
• 3. Cadaqués is a provincial town in Catalonia, Spain, frequently visited by Salvador Dalí in his childhood.
• 4. Refers to Gala Dalí, Salvador Dalí's wife and fellow artist.

Brother Sun, Sister Moon

Versions: #1
Sun, dear brother Sun.
Static Lord.
Green lightbulb of heat.
 
Moon, the younger sister.
Love star.
Spy of the nights of passion.
 
Brother Sun,
sister Moon,
may nothing ever take me away from you two.
 
Brother Sun,
sister Moon,
may nothing ever take me away from my god.
 
Brother Sun, what burns inside you
that brings so much explosion?
You seem as confused as me.
 
Moon, white reflection.
Freezing heart.
Night watcher that protects me from the thief.
 
Brother Sun,
sister Moon,
may nothing ever take me away from you two.
 
Brother Sun,
sister Moon,
may nothing ever take me away from you my god.
 
Brother Sun, sister Moon,
may nothing ever take me away from you two.
Brother Sun, sister Moon,
may nothing ever take me away from you my god.
 
Sun, brother Sun.
Brother Sun.
 

Dancing Salsa

Alone in the middle of the dancefloor,
I recognised Carmela in action.
'I know you by sight',
I said, approaching with resolution.
'Come here, face reader',
and making a turn with transpiration,
she spilt me all over as if sprinkling.
 
Dancing salsa.
Dancing salsa.
Dancing salsa at the Stella
to the sound of the tasty rhythm
of Carmela's hips.
 
She was filling up a dress
with quite the low-cut and a miniskirt.
I was dressed up like Lauren Postigo
with a crimson shirt
knotted at the belly button
'cause what used to be tacky
now causes fascination.
 
Dancing salsa.
Dancing salsa.
Dancing salsa at the Stella
to the sound of the tasty rhythm
of Carmela's hips.
 
(Hey momma, come to dance, come to dance, come to have a good time...)
(Hey momma, come to dance, come to dance, come to have a good time...)
 
She told me she was going to the toilet.
She told me she was going to the toilet
and I said I would sit down to wait for her.
This girl is not coming back, how weird.
The waiter brought me a message.
She's gone with Pedro Almodóvar.
What a rude fatty, we'll see if he puts you out
advertising some broom.
 
Dancing salsa.
Dancing salsa.
Dancing salsa at the Stella
to the sound of the tasty rhythm
of Carmela's hips.
 
(If the bird is to die for, go with her to the loo...)
Dancing salsa with Carmela.
(Don't be flexible, go with the to the loo...)
If you go to the Stella one night.
(When you see too much racket, go with her to the loo...)
Be careful with the clientele.
(For your own benefit, go with her to the loo...)
'Cause the vulture, the vulture that doesn't run, flies.
(When she does something odd, go with her to the loo...)
You spend all night awake
dancing even tarantella.
(When you see some lurking, go with her to the lavatory...)
The birds, the birds leave you with no quid.
(If her cushion is screeching, go with her to the lav...)
And thus ends this refrain.
 
This is over but the salsa keeps going!
 
Dancing salsa.
Dancing salsa.
Dancing salsa.
 

Angel

Versions: #1
This morning I looked over the balcony.
Everyone was looking upwards.
It's 'cause behind the Sun,
an angel of God appeared.
They all await your blessing.
 
Some say s/he is a vision.
Other say s/he is a comet.
It's 'cause behind the Sun,
an angel of God appeared.
They all await your blessing.
 
'I come to announce a decision.
I am the angel that guards the gate of Heaven.
This morning, my Lord has commanded me,
'Lower the sword that guards the gate of Heaven''.
 
Attention everyone when hearing my voice.
I'm going to give you the instructions.
Enter two at a time
with only one occupation,
which is to breath normally.
 
The youth at the back.
The children and elder first.
Enter two at a time
with only one occupation,
which is to breath normally.
 
'I come to announce a decision.
I am the angel that guards the gate of Heaven.
This morning, my Lord has commanded me,
'Lower the sword that guards the gate of Heaven''.
 
Then everyone started running.
Neither children nor the elder, nor the sick, nor the deaf, nor the dead.
At the gate of Heaven, a blockage was formed
and only the sound of the wind was able to enter.
 
Na na na.
 
Then everyone started running.
Neither children nor the elder, nor the sick, nor the deaf, nor the dead.
At the gate of Heaven, a blockage was formed
and only the sound of the wind was able to enter.
 

It's so Hard for Me to Forget You

Versions:
Between heaven and the ground, there is something
with a tendency to go bald
out of so much remembering.
And that something, who is me,
is a two-faced picture
that only shows one face.
 
The face seen is a Signal* advertising.
The hidden face is the result
of my genius idea of kicking you out.
It's so hard for me to forget you.
It's so hard for me.
 
Forgetting you is so hard for me.
Forgetting fifteen thousand charms
is too much good judgement.
And I don't know if it makes me prudent
but what I know is that it takes me a while
to do things unintentionally.
 
And even though it was me who decided no more
and I don't get tired of swearing to you that there won't be a second part,
It's so hard for me to forget you.
It's so hard for me to forget you.
It's so hard for me.
 
And even though it was me who decided no more
and I don't get tired of swearing to you that there won't be a second part,
it's so hard for me to forget you.
It's so hard for me to forget you.
It's so hard for me to forget you.
It's so hard for me.
 

It's Not Serious, This Graveyard

Versions: #1
Hanging from the sky
by twelve cypresses,
twelve green-clad Apostles
hold a vigil for twelve months.
 
From the garden wall
demarcating it,
some stones have been taken
to make a shrine.
 
My graveyard has a common grave
where we rest, the heroes of Cuba.
On Sundays, the blacks don't let anyone sleep
'cause they feel like singing Missa Luba.
 
And the dead here, we have such a good time
amidst colourful flowers.
And on Fridays and such
if there's no plan in the grave.
we dress up and go out
for a stroll, oh oh oh,
without crossing the gates, of course,
'cause here is where
the dead should be
and, as for me, heaven
can wait.
 
This graveyard
is not just anything
'cause the tombstones at the back
are made of pink marble.
And even though there are some good tombs,
the niches are better
because they're cheaper
and have almost no bugs.
 
And then, in a stately fashion
there lies the family pantheon
of Dukes Medina and Luengo,
'cause even though the Last Judgement
may treat us all equally,
there are some people here with rancid ancestries.
 
And the dead here, we have such a good time
amidst colourful flowers.
And on Fridays and such
if there's no plan in the grave.
we dress up and go out
for a stroll, oh oh oh,
without crossing the gates, of course,
'cause here is where
the dead should be
and, as for me, heaven
can wait.... oh, oh, oh, oh, oh.
 
And the dead here, we have such a good time
amidst colourful flowers.
And on Fridays and such
if there's no plan in the grave.
we dress up and go out
for a stroll, oh oh oh,
without crossing the gates, of course,
'cause here is where
the dead should be
and, as for me, heaven
can wait.
 
It's not serious, this graveyard.
(Finis gloriæ mvndi homini ...)
It's not serious, this graveyard.
(Finis gloriæ mvndi homini ...)
It's not serious, this graveyard.
(Finis gloriæ mvndi homini ...)
It's not serious, this graveyard.
(Finis gloriæ mvndi homini ...)
It's not serious, this graveyard.
(Finis gloriæ mvndi homini ...)
It's not serious, this graveyard.
(Finis gloriæ mvndi homini ...)
It's not serious, this graveyard.
(Finis gloriæ mvndi homini ...)
It's not serious, this graveyard.
 

Dalai Lama

Born in the forbidden country,
lost amidst the slopes of a hill.
They say he's a reincarnated god.
In the mystery of the big monastery
the lamas prepare their journey.
They're going to look for their future great lord.
 
According to the prediction of a special oracle,
in the middle of the mountains, a child was found.
His wise memory made him remember
his rosary, his bell and even his emissary.
 
Oh Dalai Lama, Dalai Lama, Dalai!
Oh Dalai, Dalai Lama, oh Dalai, Dalai!
Oh! Dalai!
 
Soon the sky turned into a wasp's nest
and a yellow hive was flying to the ground
amidst the fear that precedes an invasion.
Like leaves, a thousand red stars
fell over the Lhasa Valley
to free the people of their religion.
 
In the name of progress and revolution,
they burned traditions down and stepped on the honour.
The king of the mountains had to escape
like a beggar, with the soul wrapped in his rags.
 
Oh Dalai Lama, Dalai Lama, Dalai!
Oh Dalai, Dalai Lama, oh Dalai, Dalai!
Oh! Dalai!
 
Due to the lack of oil in the sea, he found no friends.
Thus, his little boat slowly, slowly sunk.
Inexperienced in war, but a Nobel in peace.
 
Oh Dalai Lama, Dalai Lama, Dalai!
Oh Dalai, Dalai Lama, oh Dalai, Dalai!
Oh! Dalai!
 

Dalai Lama

Versions: #1
He has been born in the forbidden country,
lost in the slope of a mountain.
They say he's the reincarnation of a god.
In the mystery of the big monastery
the lamas prepare their journey.
They're going to look for their future great lord.
 
Following the designs of a special oracle,
they swept the mountains off
and found a lad.
Wise in memory, he was able to remember
his rosary, his bell
and even his emissary.
 
Oh Dalai Lama, Dalai Lama, Dalai!
Oh Dalai, Dalai Lama, oh Dalai, Dalai!
Oh! Dalai!
 
Soon the sky was like a wasp's nest
of yellow things flying towards the ground,
and the fear that precedes an invasion.
Like leaves, the red stars
fell over the Lhasa Valley
to free the people of their religion.
 
In the name of progress and revolution,
they burned traditions down and stepped on the honour.
The king of the mountains had to escape
dressed like a beggar,
with his soul wrapped in his belly button.
 
Oh Dalai Lama, Dalai Lama, Dalai!
Oh Dalai, Dalai Lama, oh Dalai, Dalai!
Oh! Dalai!
 
Due to the lack of oil, there were no friends at sea,
the nations thus letting your boat sink.
Inexperienced in war,
but a Nobel in peace.
 
Oh Dalai Lama, Dalai Lama, Dalai!
Oh Dalai, Dalai Lama, oh Dalai, Dalai!
Oh! Dalai!
 

Heroes of Antarctica

Versions: #1
[According to the tale of Stefan Zweig]
January 18th, 1912. Captain Scott —along with Evans,
Wilson, Bowers and Oates— reaches the South Pole.
But he fails the deed of becoming the first one.
On the zero latitude point, already waves
the Norwegian flag of explorer Amundsen.
Exhausted and defeated, they set out on the journey back.
 
February 16th, the South Pole.
Five Englishmen across the Blue desert.
Evans is last in line
and hanging on his backpack
is Death ready to prove
that once you're dead
that place is not so bad.
 
There was no tombstone. There was a chat.
May God save the Queen.
Eternal glory to the heroes
of Antarctica.
 
March 6th and Oates can no longer go.
His feet are two crystal blades.
Due to crawling on some sections,
he's also got his hands frozen
but no one wants to forsake him.
And while they sleep,
he steps out towards eternity.
 
There was no tombstone. There was a chat.
May God save the Queen.
Eternal glory to the heroes
of Antarctica.
 
March 30th, here ends the diary
of Bowers, Wilson and Scott.
'May the help we never received
goes to those who survived,
our children, our widows'.
Like an Englishman, three die.
 
There were no tombstones.
There were no chats.
There was neither god
nor Queen,
nothing but eternal snow
in Antarctica.
 
Who remembers Captain Scott,
Evans, Wilson, Bowers and Oates?
Who remembers Captain Scott?
Evans, Wilson, Bowers and Oates.
 
Who remembers Captain Scott?
 

The Cinema

Versions: #1
Tonight's queue has no end.
Two hours hoping they won't hang
the bloody small cartel that says the place is full.
 
I managed to cross the door — there go ten pesetas.
Put me neither at the front nor at the back.
On the screen, everlasting is the 'Visit our bar' sign.
 
The lights went off, this is about to start.
The girl with the torch has already taken her seat.
It's the prelude of something exciting about to happen.
 
On the fixed picture of a big city,
the names and surnames of those who will be
actors, directors, producers and the like.
 
The noise of the factors at dawn,
the smells and colours of the big city
made me feel like I was there,
like I was there.
 
The body of that girl who started trembling
when the protagonist tried to kiss her,
they made me feel like I was there,
like I was happy.
 
The first scenes of approximation
manage to put you right in the situation
and bit by bit the action develops.
 
It seems like there's been a blackout.
Whistles to the booth, a tense situation.
The girl was already naked when it went off.
 
Once the rhythm was recovered, the ending has come.
A lot of murmuring asking, 'How was it?'
And a parade of zombies leaving the place.
 
For an hour and a half, I was able to be happy
eating chocolate and popcorn
feeling like it was me who was kissing that actress.
 
The noise of the factors at dawn,
the smells and colours of the big city
made me feel like I was there,
like I was there.
 
The body of that girl who started trembling
when the protagonist tried to kiss her,
they made me feel like I was there,
like I was happy.
 

One More Year

Versions: #1
At the Puerta del Sol
like on the year that is gone,
again the champagne and the grapes
and the tar are the setting.
The firecrackers that erase the sounds of yesterday
and warm the spirits up
to accept that one more is gone already.
And in the clock of yesteryear,
like in every other year,
five more minutes to the countdown.
We assess the good and the bad.
Five more minutes to the countdown.
Sailors, soldiers, bachelors and married folks,
lovers, walkers and the occasional
absent-minded priest.
Amidst shouts and whistling, the little Spaniards,
the big ones, the short ones, for once we do
something at the same time.
And in the clock of yesteryear,
like in every other year,
five more minutes to the countdown.
We assess the good and the bad.
Five more minutes to the countdown.
And even though there are some new ones to the grapes,
we will miss those who are no longer here.
And let's see if we brighten up, the ones who are alive
and if next year, we laugh.
One, two, three and four, and it starts again
'cause the fifth is the one,
the sixth is the second one, and thus seven is three.
And we say goodbye and we ask God
that in the upcoming year,
instead of it being a million,
let's see if there can be two.
At the Puerta del Sol
like on the year that is gone,
again the champagne and the grapes
and the tar are the setting.
 

Seals

Seals,
are the new empire.
Seals,
take it seriously.
Seals
dominating the world.
Seals
that have made coats
Seals
with native´s skins.
Seals
beware, my friend.
 
Seals
have landed
Seals
or have come swimming.
Seals
everywhee.
 
With the arrival of the fifth ice age
the seals at Bering
and walruses from Japan
attack in Moscow
invade New Your
it´s an uprising.
 
Seals
from Patagonia.
Seals
from Peru and Lapland.
Seals
from the Northern Sea.
 
Seals
eat human flesh.
Seals
when they feel like it.
Seals
they say it´s very healthy.
 
They have eaten the Central Bureau
now in the USSR
the Seal Bureau rules
to the White House
they will move
the city´s swimming pool.
 
Seals
with laser guns
Seals
with the H-Bomb
Seals
have overpowered Thatcher.
 
Seals
have landed
Seals
or have come swimming.
Seals
from anywhere.
 
Seals
eat human flesh.
Seals
when they feel like it.
Seals
they say it´s very healthy.
 
In the Kremlin they have made a Zoo
and parade the members of the Politburo,
and even a sea lion is in Canada, courting
Margaret Trudeau.
 
Seals
 

The 7th of Semptember

It's crazy to think
that although we broke
our bonds formed over so many winters,
we still want to celebrate together
on our anniversary.
 
This faithful little table, under which our hands
reached for each other instinctively,
watches as a sentinel
over the confidential
ritual corner.
 
If our story has burnt out,
under the ashes embers smoulder.
We tried to blow them out
but all we did was fan the flames.
 
Spring flowers
will soon be out in full bloom
and our faces will be marked by age
but we will have hope
that sparkling in our eyes
will be this past love.
 
And on the 7th of September, we
will celebrate our anniversary.
We won't know where
to kiss each other. On the cheek,
or on the lips.
 
If our story has burnt out,
under the ashes embers smoulder.
We tried to blow them out
but all we did was fan the flames.
 
And on the 7th of September, we
will celebrate our anniversary.
 

Hawaii-Bombay

Hawaii-Bombay are two paradises
that sometimes I set up in my flat
Hawaii-Bombay are one of a kind
Hawaii-Bombay I get on the bathtub
I put salt and I do some laps
for swimming, the best is the sea.
 
And when I put on the swimsuit I wonder
when will I go to Hawaii
And when I put on the suntan lotion I wonder
when will I go to Bombay
 
Hawaii-Bombay laying on a hammock
Hawaii-Bombay I play a maraca
Pachin. Pachin. I sing a Machin song
Hawaii-Bombay by the light of the lamp
Hawaii-Bombay we kiss each other
make love to me in front of the fan
 

My translations are licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License. It doesn't apply to the translations with a source.

Slave blues

Being black
Is a color
But being a slave
I don't stomach it
It wears me out
To work so much all day long
The lands of the damned lord
 
The fellows
Think alike
Of there's a Spatacus
Who doesn't waste time
And changes this
Or we all go back to Gambia
From Kunta Kinte to today
Little improvements
 
Let's see if now with the civil war
They admit our cotton union
That namely
Wants to obtain
Sunday free days, a normal income
Two bonuses, a holiday month
And a pension after retirement
 
To be treated
With dignity
Like fellows
Emigrants
To end with
The wipes
The lord's whips
And the droit de seigneur
 
And who feels like it, go back
To Senegal
To run naked on the jungle
With the wife and the boy
To go natural
Raising neck and forehead
Like sister ostrich
For not being told
That we're zulus
To sing this blues
 

My translations are licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License. It doesn't apply to the translations with a source.

Son of the moon

For those who don't misunderstand
the legend tells
about that gypsy woman
who prayed the moon
white and high in the sky.
 
While she was smiling
she begged her
'make him come back to me'
 
'You will have that man back,
dark skin
with his forgiveness
impure woman,
but in exchange I want
your first child
to come and stay with me'
 
That who sacrifices her child
not to live alone
is not worthy of a king!
 
Moon, you are a mother now,
but who made you a woman isn't here.
Tell me, silver moon
how will you rock him,
if you have no arms?
Son of the moon
 
In spring he was born
a child
from that dark father
like smoke
with light skin,
eyes of lagoon
like a son of the moon.
 
'this is a betrayal
he is not my son
and I don't want him'
 
Luna, now you're a mother
but who made you a woman
isn't here.
 
Tell me, silver moon
how will you rock him,
if you have no arms?
son of the moon
 
The gypsy, crazy
from pain,
picked right in the middle
of honor,
grabbed it and screamed,
kissed her crying,
then plunged the blade.
 
He ran onto the mountain
with the child in his arms
and abandoned him there
 
Luna, now you're a mother
but who made you
a woman isn't here
tell me, silver moon
how will you rock him
if you have no arms
son of the moon
 
If then the moon
becomes full
it's because the child
is sleeping soundly,
but if he's crying
she plays with him
goes down and becomes a cradle...
but if he's crying
she plays with him
goes down and becomes a cradle...
 
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Son of the Moon

Versions: #16
Fool be he who does not hearken:
A legend there be that recounts
That a gypsy woman
Conjured the Moon until dawn.
Weeping, she besought
That when day arrived
She might espouse a gypsy man...
 
'You will have your man, you dark skinned woman,'
From the heavens spoke the full Moon,
'But in exchange I will have
The first son
That you will bear to him.'
That whoever sacrifice her son
That she not be lone
Was going to love him little.
 
Moon, you wish to be mother
And you don't find a love
To make a woman of you...
Tell me, Moon of silver,
What do you intend to do
With a son of flesh?
Son of the Moon...
 
Of a cinnamon father a child was born,
White as the back of an ermine,
With eyes of white
Instead of olive,
Albino child of the Moon.
'Cursed be his countenance!
This child is no gypsy!
And I am having none of him!'
 
The gypsy, deeming himself dishonored,
Went unto his wife, knife in hand:
'Whose son is this?
You have been false to me!'
And he dealt her a mortal wound.
Afterward he hied himself to the mountain
With the child in his arms
And there he abandoned him.
 
And on the nights when there be a full moon,
'Tis by virtue of the child being well of mood.
And if the child cries,
The Moon will wane
For to make him a cradle.
And if the child cries,
The Moon will wane
For to make him a cradle....
 

This boy is a jewel

It's ten past eight
You gotta go to study
But before going out
You must order your room
 
Don't forget that on the way back
You gotta do the shopping
Bread, parsley
And a bit of zaffron
 
This boy is a jewel
Nobody will take him away from me
He does all the housework
And has time to study
 
This boy is a jewel
Nobody will take him away from me
He does all the housework
And has time to study
 
And I can't go on
And I can't go on
 
And you gotta sew
And you gotta iron
And you gotta put
More things to wash
 
And I don't understand why
He had that reaction
I came to wake him up
And he threw me a jar
 
This boy is a jewel
Nobody will take him away from me
He does all the housework
And has time to study
 
This boy is a jewel
Nobody will take him away from me
He does all the housework
And has time to study
 
And I can't go on
And I can't go on
And I can't go on
And I can't go on
 
This boy is a jewel
Nobody will take him away from me
He does all the housework
And has time to study
 

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.