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Pivo pivo

Od večeri do jutra
I jutra i večeri
Želim da pijem
Nešto jače od muškarca
Od večeri do jutra
I jutra i večeri
Želim da pijem
Jer to sam ja
Pivo, pivo
Želim pivo
Od piva stvarno se napijem
Pivo, pivo
Treba mi još piva
Tako mnogo, obeznanim se
Za pivo ja radim
Za pivo se borim
 
Za pivo ću učiniti
Šta god moram
Kad sam pijan ja pričam
Kad sam pijan ja se šalim
Kad sam pijan mogu da budem onakav kakav sam uvek želeo da budem
 

The Cape

The smoke touches the birchbark, when the scent of summer makes great promises.
Long days drive the clouds far away from my face.
Do I imagine the bloody Sunday when I hear faraway echoes of the coachman shout:
 
'Come to the end of the cape, to the tip of the cape to see, there is no sunshine there.
Come to the end of the cape, to the tip of the cape to whisper silently about the bloody Sunday.'
 
On the moon alley the aspen sways, its branches look at the shimmer.
Fresh leafs still laying on the ground, but in the morning as dirt they fall apart.
 
Those who are walking the beard moss tries to reach, but fails to reach them.
Its fingers have gotten longer when the days have gone by, still they dry on the tree branch.
Still the shrubs guard the path: 'here before pressed to the ground.'
There the coachman enters ahead, us following behind him.
 
Above the water ripples are chiming, the glimmer of the tree stump has faded above the day that's coming to an end.
The path to safety won't protect me, silent is the murder cape.
 
'Come to the end of the cape, to the tip of the cape to see, there is no sunshine there.
Come to the end of the cape, to the tip of the cape to whisper silently about the bloody Sunday.'
 
'Come to the end of the cape, to the tip of the cape to see, there is no sunshine there.
Come to the end of the cape, to the tip of the cape to whisper silently about the bloody Sunday.'
 

Leväluhta

I float across the grey surface
There they carried me
In the arms of this shadestream
Whom they gave me to
 
And there I am light and call along others so I don't alone
Fall under the water level, walk side by side with me
And if there are trees on these thicketlands, to them reaches
The hand that may rise above my breast
 
Light it is to sway on that light other side
Mild to float lightly on the Leväluhta swamp
Hard as a prisoner to control tomorrow's sorrows
Svelte to sway light as a feather
 
Come all acquaintances meet me
Only few of them I recognize
Here the pasture rocks its child
Waves the hand of the swayer
 
And there I am light and call along others so I don't alone
Fall under the water level, walk side by side with me
And if there are trees on these , to them reaches
The hand that may rise above my breast
 
Light it is to sway on that light other side
Mild to float lightly on the Leväluhta swamp
Hard as a prisoner to control tomorrow's sorrows
Svelte to sway light as a feather
 
Light it is to sway on that light other side
Mild to float lightly on the Leväluhta swamp
Hard as a prisoner to control tomorrow's sorrows
Svelte to sway light as a feather
 

Tear of the Wildwood Spruce

Time sits on the ancient trees
Watching the evening joys
I lie resting on the ground
On the door of the wildwood spruce
 
From here I can see the ridge wells
The tender rage of evergreen trees
Strands of hair like hay fields
Cobs like bells
On my lips the alder bird's longing
The foot keeps going
As if thinking
Sits on my lap crying
 
From the eyes of the forest
The tear of the wildwood spruce
Dances beside me
The tear of the wildwood spruce
Into the stump's wounds
The tear of the wildwood spruce
Into the shadows of the lean-to
The tear of the wildwood spruce
 
In the sprig-lands it smells of tar
Runs its long fire
The bauble gleams with nightly fire
Firelight in the night
 
There with my back against the ground
Touched by the morning dew tear
The thrushes don't sing above me
The silent song
Watches like living in longing
Would sit beside me
A blade of grass in my ear
Crying tears in its song
 
From the eyes of the forest
The tear of the wildwood spruce
Dances beside me
The tear of the wildwood spruce
Into the stump's wounds
The tear of the wildwood spruce
Into the shadows of the lean-to
The tear of the wildwood spruce
 
From the eyes of the forest
The tear of the wildwood spruce
Dances beside me
The tear of the wildwood spruce
Into the stump's wounds
The tear of the wildwood spruce
Into the shadows of the lean-to
The tear of the wildwood spruce
 

Skull Chalice

I conjure them to me
For these spirits
Where the wind of the fells
Where the forceful tempest
 
Today light plays on skin
A joy without mourners
Today fire in the sound-hair
That fire keeps me safe
 
I dance in the skies
On the rocks of the shining lid
Like gleam on the eye's surface
The slash of my guarding wolf
 
With eyes I see a stump in the snow
Snow falling from a dead tree
With eyes I see the dance of the lid
Still darkening from the fire
 
With eyes I see a stump in the snow
Snow falling from a dead tree
With eyes I see the dance of the lid
Still darkening from the fire
Still darkening from the fire
 
Run wolf, run like a horse
Fur-foot in the lands of cattle
Run till the roots swoon
Run with toes, run with skis
 
Run wolf, run like a horse
Fur-foot in the lands of cattle
Run till the roots swoon
Run with toes, run with skis
 
I conjure them to me
For these spirits
Where the wind of the fells
Where the forceful tempest
 
Today light plays on skin
A joy without mourners
Today fire in the sound-hair
That fire keeps me safe
 
I dance in the skies
On the rocks of the shining lid
Like gleam on the eye's surface
The slash of my guarding wolf
 
With eyes I see a stump in the snow
Snow falling from a dead tree
With eyes I see the dance of the lid
Still darkening from the fire
 
With eyes I see a stump in the snow
Snow falling from a dead tree
With eyes I see the dance of the lid
Still darkening from the fire
 
With eyes I see a stump in the snow
Snow falling from a dead tree
With eyes I see the dance of the lid
Still darkening from the fire
 
Like running on down
The snowshoes carry me
Like generous plows
In its hands my fire
 
The head is a long day's hair
The flame's head a meadow flower
I myself am a bear hide
A pike's mind, a skull chalice
 
I dance in the skies
On the rocks of the shining lid
Like gleam on the eye's surface
The slash of my guarding wolf
 
With eyes I see a stump in the snow
Snow falling from a dead tree
With eyes I see the dance of the lid
Still darkening from the fire
 
Run wolf, run like a horse
Fur-foot in the lands of cattle
Run till the roots swoon
Run with toes, run with skis
 
Like running on down
The snowshoes carry me
Like generous plows
In its hands my fire
 
The head is a long day's hair
The flame's head a meadow flower
I myself am a bear hide
The pike's mind, the skull chalice
 
Skull chalice
Skull chalice
Skull chalice
 

Like a sleeping forest

The swamp is whispering in a summery night
like a sleeping forest
In it the treetops are waving
As a dead tree's trunk
And underneath lying
happily sleeping
Like being on a walk
The road is steady and blooming
 
But on who's country road
are you able to hear singing?
When through a broad land is singing
the swamp like a sleeping forest
The road has been cast
by time itself
That's why the one back home
Know's it's path
 
I feel it,
I'm here only as a quest.
Unfamiliar valleys,
Have already been forgotten.
For me weird is,
My shoulders' weight.
Unknown,
My sweet girl is.
 
I feel it,
Quietly whispering it's yearning.
The fields are lonely,
Their land is black.
For me weird is,
the frosts cover.
Unknown,
is the lady of dreams.
 
There flailing a farmer's job,
like the foam of a river.
It's froth covers the rocks,
It has a steady stream.
When it arrives to me,
The fresh hay's scent.
I won't harvest,
That old swampy land.
 
When I take my final step,
That lady can pick up
the dead flower.
Like she'd know my dream,
That I won't wake up from it.
Under a gray trunk,
If the time of living,
goes through all fear.
 
I feel it,
I'm here only as a quest.
Unfamiliar valleys,
Have already been forgotten.
For me weird is,
My shoulders' weight.
Unknown,
My sweet girl is.
 
I feel it,
Quietly whispering it's yearning.
The fields are lonely,
Their land is black.
For me weird is,
the frosts cover.
Unknown,
is the lady of dreams.
 
I feel it,
Quietly whispering it's yearning.
The fields are lonely,
Their land is black.
For me weird is,
the frosts cover.
Unknown,
is the lady of dreams.
 
I know, that living
just for tomorrow.
It feels like from a moment
the steps ran away.
Now time is disappearing,
Fading in to the shadows.
Like restless,
and gone is my dream.
 

Greyness

When fallen into greyness, for a moment wings try to reach out
A faint moan can be heard like silence can be heard
If it’s possible to sing there, its song will sound high on the snowdrifts
But once, when I will hear the little snow bird to fall silent,
The song of Sylvia can be heard1
 
Winter’s starry sky above, its shine rests on the snow
Yet you are alone silently, like fading away
Once here was faith of spring, its will bends like the snowy branches
And yet you touch silently, as if wistful
Even if I always protected the most fragile, delicate in my hands,
I would still fear that you’ll disappear in the winds
Even if morning is here, snow alone whispers so very quietly
I open my hands, I feel a light touch of rime
 
Still carries in its cradle,
Makes to understand the worries of the carer
The faintest moan
Doesn’t allow others to notice and worry about it
When the song of Sylvia can be heard
 
Winter’s starry sky above, its shine rests on the snow
Yet you are alone silently, like fading away
Once here was faith of spring, its will bends like the snowy branches
And yet you touch silently, as if wistful
Even if I always protected the most fragile, delicate in my hands,
I would still fear that you’ll disappear in the winds
Even if morning is here, snow alone whispers so very quietly
I open my hands, I feel a light touch of rime
 
A limited heart can’t know, can’t feel that will
Still the song of yearning can be heard by the grove
 

• 1. There's a poem, nowadays a well-known Christmas song, called (Sylvia's Christmas song) written by Zacharias Topelius. Sylvian joululaulu tells of yearning and anxiety, and Sylvia itself refers to a warbler (which belongs to the genus Sylvia). Most often the bird is believed to be an Eurasian blackcap.

A boy in suspenders

I'm watching at the working maids in the yard
i wonder who i'd like to know when we get old
But oh, how we'd grow old
that's a different story
 
With a blade of grass in my mouth
I'm watching at the working maids
one carries jugs full of milk,
who has stayed a night in her shed?
 
I fit my hat on my head,
feeling the needles of sunlight burning,
or is it the reddening of their cheeks,
which melts away all the grief i have in my heart
 
Stepping on carefully like going over flowers in a field
Through days, wandering nights
As i watch at my girl in the yard
Open the doors for her as a farmhand
 
Oh have you young maid
ever noticed this flashy boy in suspenders
The one always in the parties, couraging the spelmen:
'Let the music play through nights, through work let it play!'
 
I'm watching at the working maids in the yard
Especially that one with long, blond hair
Even if she has a smile like a beautiful summer night,
At days she knits the blackest socks
 
Dark clouds fill up the sky,
Rain wettens the yard in seconds
whoever shall open up the door into their shed
Shall walk on side by side through the times
 
Stepping on carefully like going over flowers in a field
Through days, wandering nights
As i watch at my girl at the yard
Open the doors for her as a farmhand
 
Oh have you young maid
ever noticed this flashy boy in suspenders
The one always in the parties, couraging the spelmen:
'Let the music play through nights, through work let it play!'
 
Jon Of Finland

Drool Of The Beast

Osmotar the maker of beer
Was walking far in the fields
Pellonpekko raised the barley
And the barley was ready for beer
 
Osmotar rubbed her hands
Rubbed once, rubbed twice
Thus animals were born
Fetchers of spice
 
They looked for nectar, sprouts of fir,
Gathered essentials from the forest
Osmotar made the beer
From hop, from barley sweet
 
But the barley drink won't brew
The precious ale is resting
Osmotar the creator of beer
Comes up with with a peculiar plan
 
'Get the drool of the beast'
 
From a fight between two giants
Bring it to the beer vessel
'Get the drool of the beast
It will make the beer brew'
 
They did as told
Went to get the drool of a bear
Straight away it started to brew
The dark beer, sweet smelling
 
She looked for nectar, sprouts of fir,
Gathered essentials from the forest
Osmotar made the beer
From hop, from barley sweet
 
But the barley drink won't brew
The precious ale is resting
Osmotar the creator of beer
Comes up with with a peculiar plan
 
'Get the drool of the beast'
 

Swampclan

Into an apprentice of Kanervala
'To a tracker of Tapiola
I was born a soldier
A grown, strong wanderer
 
Swamps, wilderness across I walk
Searching for the treasures of Aarnikangas
The life-long spirit deep in me
The power of mountains in my wrists
 
'The Clan of the Swamp of Salo
Hand grabs of a talpidae
The Clan of the Swamp of Salo
The power of mountains in my wrists '(x2)
 
The Clan of the swamp of Salo
The Clan of the swamp of Salo
 
I have the grabs of a talpidae
The accurate knowledge from the lynx
A call has arrived from the horned one
A sprint from the dephts of the swamp
 
The vast song of a Laatiainen
A grand song of a Sovittainen
To the animals and humans 'like
To the children of the Wasteland
 
'The Clan of the Swamp of Salo
Hand grabs of a talpidae
The Clan of the Swamp of Salo
The power of mountains in my wrists'
(x2)
 
The Clan of the Swamp of Salo
The Clan of the Swamp of Salo