Резултати претраге

Koliko mi je loše, malo se i žalim

Click to see the original lyrics (Spanish)
Koliko mi je loše... malo se i žalim.
Koliko mi je loše... malo se i žalim
 
Uvek ustajem nogama okrenutim ka podu.
Nemi glas... pozdravlja me iz daleka,
poklanja mi svoju tišinu, ali baš me briga...
Gledam se u ogledalu.
 
I ogledalo mi uyvraća svoj odraz bez mog,
Shvatam i nastavljam... ali ne verujem.
Postavljam samodijagnozu bez minimalnog uspeha,
pa postajem depresivan.
 
Koliko mi je loše... malo se i žalim.
Koliko mi je loše... malo se i žalim.
Duša mi je u karantinu, a telo slomljeno.
Kakva bol, kakva tuga...i kakva muka!
 
Izlazim na ulicu...hodam neusaglašeno.
Kofer pun gromada.
Tužan osmeh što se penjem uz tolike stepenice...
a ne stižem nigde.
 
I prošlost me kritikuje što uvek tugujem.
A ja joj kažem :'Jadan onaj ko krije svoju tugu.'
Cigla ne zna za plač...
A takođe nema ni dobar ritam.
 
Koliko mi je loše... malo se i žalim.
Koliko mi je loše... malo se i žalim.
Duša mi je u karantinu, a telo slomljeno.
Kakva bol, kakva tuga...i kakva muka!
 
I kako me boli ceo život...
I doktor mi je rekao da krenem na testiranje,
A prava istina je da je kasno za to...
Jer svaka nova bol...nađe svoj placebo.
 
Mog magarca, mog magarca boli ljubav
Jer ga niko ne voli osim mene.
A tuga me pozdravlja kad se najviše smejem,
Srce mi je puno zakrpa.
 
Mog magarca, mog magarca boli ljubav
Jer ga niko ne voli osim mene.
A tuga me pozdravlja kad se najviše smejem,
Srce mi je puno zakrpa.
 
Mog magarca, mog magarca boli ljubav
Jer ga niko ne voli osim mene.
A tuga me pozdravlja kad se najviše smejem,
Srce mi je puno zakrpa.
Tačka.
 

How bad I am and how little I complain

How bad I am…. And how little I complain
 
I always rise up with my feet looking at the ground.
The muted voice greets me from afar
It gifts me it’s silence but I pretend to be a fool
Looking at myself in the mirror
 
And the mirror shows me its reflection without mine,
I accept it and continue, but I dont trust myself.
I selfdiagnose without even a tiny success,
so I depress myself.
 
(Refrain)
My soul is in quarantine and my body broken
What pain, what sorrow and what a torment!
 
I go out on the pavement and walk feeling blue
The suitcase full of pebbles
The lips of the smile turned downwards from climbing so many ladders
Without arriving anywhere
 
And history criticises me because I’m always hurting
And I tell it: “Poor is the one who hides his weeping”
A brick doesn’t know how to cry…
But also doesn’t carry the compass well.
 
(Refrain)
 
And how all of life hurts me
And the doctor has told me he doubts
The truest of truths, that I came late to the nook
And that for every new pain he searches a placebo.
 
For my fool, for my fool, love hurts him
Because nobody wants him, only I want him.
And pain greets me most when I am laughing,
Of remedies my heart is full (3x)
 

Heart on a stretcher

I've remained to lie down for a moment
I'm looking as the clouds disappear too
Why do those birds fly away
Wouldn't it be better if they stayed in place
 
If I went to sleep early
And left the world to wait
I would let my mind wander
 
The following morning
When everything is so darn beautiful
I will take care of this and understand
Sometimes you have to stop and daydream for a bit
Heart on a stretcher
 
I'm not ready yet
There are so many unread books
But I promise one thing
I won't go around the truth anymore
 
If you have time to listen
I could talk about my feelings
And even if this feels difficult
 
The following morning
When everything is so darn beautiful
I will take care of this and understand
Sometimes you have to stop and daydream for a bit
Heart on a stretcher
 
I regret not telling you enough that I miss you
And I never wanted you to doubt me
 
The following morning
When everything is so darn beautiful
I will take care of this and understand
Sometimes you have to stop and daydream for a bit
 
In the morning
When everything is so darn beautiful
I will take care of this and understand
Sometimes you have to stop and daydream for a bit
Heart on a stretcher
 

Andalusia

She of the lanes
narrows and whites,
she who when pain
became singing.
 
She of boulevard
and the Alhambra,
She of ask ground,
ask freedom.
 
She of Machado and Camarón,
She of musical beat rights
and beat the breast
because too much heart.
 
She of the east and the west,
she who break rules,
she of ordinary people
who have kings's blood.
 
She who revival poetry
as soon as day ends.
To her windows I look
and her happiness hurt me.
Nobody will love you as
Andalusia does.
 
She of Mosque
and the roasted fish,
she with a small boat
between sun and sea.
 
She of olive
and olive worker.
She who by february
smell of carnival.
 
She who Picasso talk about
and Lorca drew,
Velázquez, Paco and Alberti,
Carlos Cano and Juan Ramón.
 
She the surrealist more real,
she of bitter talent,
graceful without make up,
millionaire without money.
 
She who revival poetry
as soon as day ends.
To her windows I look
and her happiness hurt me.
Nobody will love you as
Andalusia does.