Резултати претраге страна 11

Everything I Loved

I've had the same shirt on for a week already
Only wine stains, not a trace of food
Couldn't get it down my throat
 
I hear all great love stories end in death
We weren't ready to live so how could we die
How could we die?
 
If you are the light,
shine inside me
If you are freedom,
free me as well
If you are space,
expand into me
If you are the rain,
water a dying flower
I want it back
everything I loved
 
We're lying back to back
we don't say a word
We listen to the air that stands still in the silence
In my memories are the paintings on your walls
Love songs don't play there anymore
 
And I can't be played anymore*
I can't be played anymore
 
If you are the light,
shine inside me
If you are freedom,
free me as well
If you are space,
expand into me
If you are the rain,
water a dying flower
I want it back
everything I loved
 
If you are the light,
shine inside me
If you are freedom,
free me as well
If you are space,
expand into me
 
If you are the rain,
water a dying flower
I want it back
everything I loved
 
If you are the light,
shine inside me
If you are freedom,
free me as well
If you are space,
expand into me
If you are the rain,
water a dying flower
I want it back
everything I loved
 

Corleone

[Part 1]
Pišem tekstove pesama, ali mi svi kažu 'Daj sebi vremena!'
Ne mogu prestati, jer sam toliko daleko dogurao
Uspeh je poput drolje, pokazala je svoje lice
Radi se o njoj, o meni, podelio sam svaku pesmu sa njom
Zanemari Vikipediju
Ukoliko želiš da me upoznaš, brate dođi
Ispričaću ti priče o Petom kvartu, kao da je Compton
Otac građevinac, želeo je da studiram i jednog dana doktor budem
Rafa svira gitaru, jednog dana postaće zvezda ali ne
 
[Hook]
Moj put je Corleone
Levica, desnica politike, ne vidim ništa
Idem samo pravo do svetla
Moj put je Corleone
Đubrad se pojavljuju ispred mene
Za mene je uvek oružje koje puca
Moj put je Corleone
Ni za šta interesovanje
Samo ravno do svetla, ah-ah
Bez straha od rata
Ne, tako će biti sve dok me Bog voli
Moj put je Corleone
 
[Part 2]
Iz Napulja sam, krv Vendetta teče mojim venama
Drevna mržnja u grudima, ali pokušavam da se promenim
Često se sranja dešavaju kada si mlad, ali dobro, postaćeš mudriji
'Da li je vredno svega toga', pomislićeš kada primiš metak u srce
Čoveče, zajebi Vikipediju,
Želiš li me upoznati, brate onda slušaj moje pesme
Možeš to, ukoliko želiš, čoveče, dajem šansu
Dokonim hejterima koji jedu burgere i pomfrit
Drugi govore, da te vole pre nego što su ove reči postale posebne
 
[Hook]
Moj put je Corleone
Levica, desnica politike, ne vidim ništa
Idem samo pravo do svetla
Moj put je Corleone
Đubrad se pojavljuju ispred mene
Za mene je uvek oružje koje puca
Moj put je Corleone
Ni za šta interesovanje
Samo ravno do svetla, ah-ah
Bez straha od rata
Ne, tako će biti sve dok me Bog voli
Moj put je Corleone
 

Look At Her

Zone 7, Musucamba and Oscar D'Leon
Brother! How! Delicious!
 
My dark haired girl my dark haired girl
My dark haired girl, from Venezuela
How I love I love you beautiful girl
You are, lo, lo eh, lo eh
 
My dark haired girl my dark haired girl
My dark haired girl, from Venezuela
I love you I love you beautiful girl
You are lo, lo eh, lo eh
 
Chorus:
Look at her, look at her, look at her
Nobody is going to touch her
Look at her, look at her, look at her
Look at her, look at her
Because my girl is spoiled
 
Look at her, look at her, look at her
Nobody is going to touch her
Look at her, look at her, look at her
Look at her, look at her
Because my girl is spoiled
 
Yeah! It's a pleasure to meet you Oscar,
What's up, how's it going,
My name is Maner
I see that your daughter is dancing
I'm gonna tell you something
It's only a coincidence that I am alone
Though I hesitate at the dance
I know that I couldn't avoid it
I liked how her body was swaying
Dancing to the reggaeton, you know
No one can compare to her, and show knows it
It's what she wants,
I never said a word, yet she is looking at me
 
What do they say when they see her walk
They say 'A toast to the all women'
It demonstrates that they all love her
Please, no one will ever win her over
 
We are all the same
Maybe my dad as well
And how!
My heart belongs to only one
To her!
So everyone behave yourselves,
Because like me, you will never find
Another woman that can dance the mambo better
Because like me, you will never find
Another woman that can dance the Lembow better
Because like me, you will never find
Another woman that can dance the mambo better
Because like me, you will never find
Another woman that can dance the Lembow better
 
Chorus:
Look at her, look at her, look at her
Nobody is going to touch her
Look at her , look at her, look at her
Look at her, look at her
Because my girl is spoiled
 
Look at her, look at her, look at her
Nobody is going to touch her
Look at her , look at her, look at her
look at her, look at her
Because my girl is spoiled
 
Mm,
With your permission, it will be my pleasure.
Mister Oscar D' Leon, my name is Joker,
To dance the reggaeton with your daughter,
And how!
Do not be annoyed Don, I as well
I'm like fire, yet I walk on water,
I am in love with her, my my dark haired girl from the coast,
With musucamba, ay caramba,
I can assure you,
With me your daughter will never cry
 
She won't cry, she won't cry
When your daughter is with me she will never cry
Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry, don't cry
Don't cry, she will not cry
When your daughter is with me she will never cry
Oh never oh never she will never cry for her mama,
When your daughter is with me she will never cry
You will, you will never shed a tear,
When your daughter is with me, she will not cry
 
Yes, yes, yes, yes I ask for your permission
If I could marry her
For she is the daughter of the sonero
I want to marry her
For a present, a star
If she asks for the heavens, I will gladly lower them
 
Yes, yes, yes, yes I ask for your permission
If I could marry her
I will call you Daddy Yankee,
If I marry her,
For a present, a star
If she asks for the heavens, I will gladly lower them
 
My dark haired girl, my dark haired girl,
My dark haired girl, from Venezuela
How I love I love your beautiful daughter
You are, lo, lo eh, lo eh.
 
My dark haired girl, my dark haired girl
My dark haired girl, from Venezuela
How I love I love your beautiful girl
You are, lo,lo eh, lo eh.
 
Chorus:
Look at her, look at her, look at her
Nobody is going to touch her
Look at her, look at her, look at her,
Look at her, look at her
Because my girl is spoiled
 
Look at her, look at her, look at her
Nobody is going to touch her
Look at her, look at her, look at her,
Look at her, look at her
Because my girl is spoiled
 
From Venezuela to the world,
Zone 7, Masucamba, and Oscar D' Leon
Enjoy it, enjoy it, enjoy it,
And you, and you, and you,
Now, now! Zone 7 and the sonero of the world
In my area and in yours
 

You & Me

When can I see it again?
I am still
Your face in a photograph
You’re waiting like me
 
I thought it was a joke
When I said I was going away
I was all night
Can I say I love you?
 
Pretend to be fine
Laughed… I hate this
Tears flowing with me
I said it was due to dust
You too
 
There is only one change
I think everything has changed
The narrow road that I always walked with
Why are you so unfamiliar
 
I did not know it was true
When I asked you to forget
I do not like that
I will not listen
 
Pretend to be fine
Laughed… I hate this
Tears flowing with me
I said it was due to dust
You too
I Love you
If you hear me you can come back
Your tears hiding behind the clouds
It’s been raining for me
 

Harmless insanity with dangerous inversion

It could be that a certain kind of insanity
could give its patients the taste of the adventure,
of convincing themselves that the pictures of people
are that very people, a bit different, passed through the lens.
If a woman who is far in Europe returned,
to put before the picture the dinner plate with the soup.
It could be, it could be
but it would be a harmless insanity
if there is, if there is, if there is.
Or a more dangerous variant,
moving to the field, moving to the field of sculpture,
a more dangerous variant in this genre of insanity,
would be to believe that statues
that statues are people, are humans
and begging, and begging to Luis Alberto 1
to not go walking over you. 2
This variant in turn has a variant,
in other words, a specially dangerous inversion.
It's the opposite of what I said.
Not believing that statues are people
but believing that there are people who are statues.
Believing that Artigas3 is made of bronze and honor him like that.
Unless, unless this is not completely an insanity
and that there's something of all that here.
Look if the guy is locked inside his statue
and he can't get out, and he can't, and he can't, and he can't.
 

• 1. Luis Alberto de Herrera
• 2. His statue shows him walking
• 3. José Gervasio Artigas

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.

Timoleon

Born of a magnificent mother who posed for Picasso
And a photogenic father like Rudolph Valentino
Above his cradle we'd see passing the fairies
He had all, really all, to be a beautiful baby.
 
Timoleon, despite some details was a beautiful boy
Two heads, six arms, one eye and four legs
But it isn't important, pardon ?
 
We'll tell you that at school, he was always the first
When we ask him a question, he answer everytime
It's true that he had two heads, one say 'yes', the other 'no'
as they shaking toghether, he was always right !
 
Timoleon, despite some details was a beautiful boy
Two heads, six arms, one eye and four legs
But it isn't important, pardon ?
 
He was a great pianist, more dexterious than Chopin
Alone he turn the page while playing with five hands
In the Army, same thing, he became a sniper
Cause he had just one eye, he was the faster to aim
 
Timoleon, despite some details was a beautiful boy
Two heads, six arms, one eye and four legs
But it isn't important, pardon ?
 
He won in the Hendaye games the 4x110 yards dash
And won two medals, that a lot for a Frenchman !
As he had four legs, and nothing forbids that
He finished first and second, we'd never saw that !
 
Timoleon, despite some details was a beautiful boy
Two heads, six arms, one eye and four legs
But it isn't important, pardon ?
 
Older than Methuselah, one day he quitted life
And it was without any problem that he go to Paradise
When Saint Peter open the door, the first thing he saw
It's that God and angels were all made like him !
 
Timoleon, despite some details was a beautiful boy
Two heads, six arms, one eye and four legs
But it isn't important, pardon ?
 

You Came To Me On That Day

Seem like somehow
We resemble each other, do you know?
Is it only in my eyes?
Footprints of you and me walking together
 
Guess that's why
I kept
Getting to like you
 
Longing
That became old to you
Makes me wanting to lean on you and rest
 
In a story this much sad
You are a beautiful consolation
That found me one day
 
In a story this mush cold
You are the warm air
On the day my heart melted
I was with you
 
I have words to tell you
That everything was for the best for me
After meeting you everything we were doing together,
Starting a love too
 
With you
Who is looking
At smiling me
 
With me
Who is looking at you
We are bringing each other into
 
In a story this much sad
You are a beautiful consolation
That found me one day
 
In a story this mush cold
You are the warm air
On the day my heart melted
I was with you
 
In a story this mush cold
You are the warm air
On the day my heart melted
I was with you
 
On the day my heart melted
I was with you
 

Elsa

Is it enough that you appear ?
That look, (when) you tie again
Your hair, that touching gesture.
May I be reborn and recognize
A world inhabited by songs
Elsa1 my love my youth
 
Water (is) strong2 and sweet as a wine
Like in the sun of the windows
You give me the caress of being
You give me the thirst and the hunger
To live again and to know
Our story until the end
 
It's a miracle to be together
That the light on your cheek
That around you the wind is playing
Always if I see you I'm shaking
As at his first date
A young man who looks like me
 
For the first time your mouth
For the first time your voice
From a wing on top of the woods
The tree shudders to the stump
It's always the first time
When your dress casually touches me
 
My life in truth begins
The day I met you
You whose arms knew how to steer
His atrocious road to my dementia
And who showed me the land
That goodness alone sow
 
You came to the heart of the confusion
To chase bad fevers
And I flamed up like a juniper
At Christmas between your fingers
I was born really from your lip
My life is from you
 
Is it enough that you appear ?
That look, (when) you tie again
Your hair, that touching gesture.
May I be reborn and recognize
A world inhabited by songs
Elsa my love my youth
 

• 1. Elsa Triolet, the friend of Louis Aragon who wrote this poem.
• 2. 'Eau forte' also means 'etching'.

You won't come back from there

You won't come back from there, you who used to hit on girls,
young man whose naked heart I saw beating
as I ripped your shirt off. And you won't
come back either, you the old card player
 
whom a shell cut in two midriff.
And yet for once you had a smashing hand.
And you, the guy with tatoos, former Légionnaire,
you'll survive a long time without face nor eyes.
 
We head off God knows where to, it's like a nightmare.
We'll slide down the line of fire.
Somehow it doesn't look much of a game anymore.
The blokes up there are awaiting replacement.
 
The train of last glimmers rumbles in the distance.
The slumbering soldiers, shaken by the dance
let their foreheads sink and bend their necks.
It smells of tobacco, wool and sweat.
 
Looking at you, I can't help but see your fates.
Brides of the earth and grooms of pains.
The trench lamp paints you the colour of tears.
You feebly drag your condemned legs.
 
Already, the stone thinks of where your name will be written
Already, you're nothing but a golden word on our squares
Already, the memories of your love fades away
Already, you only exist because of your demise.
 
This translation does not claim to be of any particular value.
Glad if you liked it, sorry if you didn't.
You can reuse it as you please.
Glad if it's for knowledge or understanding, sorry if it's just for money or fame.

I leave you with my heart

Dum dum dum dum…
Dum dum dum dum…
Dum dum dum dum…
Dum dum dum dum…
 
When I was younger
The world would tell me
To not talk with a thief like you, cause you could
With flowers
Act on me
Just to steal my heart
 
You didn't steal anything
You didn't even bother
The indifference hurts, you discouraged me
Chocolate in place of a flower
The love never picked up size
Come on, take it from me
The last favor
 
I leave you with my heart
One night, you with it
So that you can reanimate it
 
I leave you with my heart
So that you can do whatever it wants
And it still asks me
It is more curious
Is your declared love serious?
If it knocks me down
If it spins me
Are you like Ghita or do you know the way to the backdoor?
 
I know that you know
That I showed them to you
But I didn't tell you that the padlock is unlocked
A heart, I don't know how, but it's been stolen
You are a true thief
 
I leave you with my heart
One night, you with it
So that you can reanimate it
 
I am lucky, but you're luckier
Only a bouquet of flowers and my world is upside down
Like in an American spy film
At the theft of feelings, you are a champion
 
Dum dum dum dum
 
If I have made a mistake, please, tell me! Thank you!
Dacă am făcut o greșeală, te rog, spune-mi! Mulțumesc!

Oh sad, sad was my soul.

Versions: #2
Oh sad, sad was my soul
Because, because of a woman
 
I did not console myself
Even though my heart has gone away
 
Even though my heart, even though my soul
Had fled far away from that woman
 
I did not console myself
Even though my heart has gone away
 
And my heart, my too sensitive heart
Said to my soul: Is it possible?
 
Is it possible? - was it -
This proud exile, this sad exile?
 
My soul said to my heart: Do I know
Myself what this trap wants from us
 
To be present although exiled
Even though gone so far
 
Oh sad, sad was my soul
Because, because of a woman
 
All of my work is dedicated to Ms Z. G., who is the real counterpart of Beatrice Portinari for me.

Soul, does it remember?

Versions: #2
Soul, does it remember?
Soul, does it remember at the bottom of paradise
From Auteuil's station and trains of long ago
bringing you everyday, coming from the chapel?
So long ago already! Yet how I remember
 
after the first words of good morning and welcome
My old arm in yours we were leaving that Auteuil
And under the trees filled with a kind music
Our discussion was often metaphysical
 
O your strong arguments, your coalman faith
Not without some tendency, O so frank! to deny
But left so quickly at the first step of doubt!
And then we came back, more than slow, by road
A bit of the long way, at my place, at ours rather
to have lunch of hardly anything, lightly smoking quick and early
And hurry a long time a vague work
 
My poor child, your voice in the Bois de Boulogne!
 
All of my work is dedicated to Ms Z. G., who is the real counterpart of Beatrice Portinari for me.

Shine (My Little Torch Light)

I always have my little tourch light with me
And when it's getting dark, we're never alone
 
Inside the power house of feelings
Someone pressed the wrong button
It goes 'woosh' and 'boom' and it's getting dark
And my heart gets frightened
 
(Hold it! Never mind!)
(Hold it! Never mind!)
(Hold it! But never mind!)
 
I always have my little tourch light with me
And when it's getting dark, we're never alone
Shine, my little touch light!
Shine, shine, shine into my heart!
Shine, shine, shine, let me be with you!
 
If the Earth turns into the Titanic
And if everybody just wants to leave:
Hey, be cool, don't panic!
So will the last one turn out the light?
 
(Hold it! Never mind!)
(Hold it! Never mind!)
(Hold it! But never mind!)
 
I always have my little tourch light with me
And when it's getting dark, we're never alone
Shine, my little touch light!
Shine, shine, shine into my heart!
Shine, shine, shine, let me be with you!
 
I always have my little tourch light with me
I always have my little tourch light with me
My little torch light, shine, shine, shine!
 

Strengthen Into the World

Versions: #2
The words are relaxing
And the emotion is still numb
Every word right in its place
And the heart remains closed
 
And the days are so beautiful
This winter's nights
Remind me of magical days
 
Two minutes are enough
Give me your hand and we'll walk away
Both in body and in heart
You'll let one touch your pain
 
And the days are so beautiful
This winter's nights
Remind me of magical days
Don't worry, I'm here...
 
I can see that in life
The wheels turn everyone around
The wars, the inversions
At the end come around
Strengthened to the world
 
The times aren't easy
Fading in the shadows
Waking up in a fright
And escaping the absentmindedness
 
And the days are so beautiful
This winter's nights
Remind me of magical days
Don't worry, I'm here...
 
I can see that in life
The wheels turn everyone around
The wars, the inversions
At the end come around
Strengthened to the world
 

Celeb Five (I Wanna Be A Celeb)

I want to be like Serena, like Ariana Grande.
Shelup cuts in New York.
The New York house also has a luxury villa pool.
Sellup Five Home Home
Semi-private 4,000 to 60
 
Let’s get a glimpse of Cinderella Girls
Do you wanna Celeb Five
 
He lived under the ring.
Do you wanna be young and rich
 
Cinderella Girls
Do you wanna workaholic
 
I got sponsorship
Do you wanna little Tight
 
Oh, oh.
For the first time
Where is the cuss
Where is the cuss
 
Harmony
Look at this.
Look. That’s right.
 
I do not want to go to the station
 
Reverse! (I love you)
It’s Taechang! (I want you)
Thread black! (I need you)
 
We’re all coming from now on.
Do you wanna Celeb Five
 
HyunMi_K

Good Evening

The cozy darkness
Is lingering far away, slowly coming
At the tip of the sunset that hangs on the buildings
I think of you
 
Spill out the darkness
Open the night
I wanna see you more, right now, oh
 
The moonlight is rising
I’m going to you before it’s too late
I’m going to get you
Imagining how surprised you’ll be, I’m going to you
Going to you, going to you
Without a reason, going to you
 
Spilling out the night, I’m going to get you
If you happen to think of me
I’ll go to you
right now
It’s too lonely at night
Don’t wanna press it down
so I’m going to you right now
 
My breathing is getting rougher
We’re getting closer
When you said you missed me
My heart got impatient
So I increased my speed
 
Like the rain on the window
You’re sparkling clearly
All of our stories make us run out of breath
 
The closer I step to you
My whole world changes through you
I want to know all of your moments
Before that moonlight
 
I can feel
we’re looking at each other
through this door
Let’s see...
You’re eyes nose lips cheek
Even if you’re
Farther away than the sky
I’ll send my heart to the clouds
On this night with the bright moonlight
 
The moonlight is rising
I’m going to you before it’s too late
I’m going to get you
Imagining how surprised you’ll be, I’m going to you
Going to you, going to you
Without a reason, going to you
 
Spilling out the night, I’m going to get you
If you happen to think of me
I’ll go to you
right now
It’s too lonely at night
Don’t wanna press it down
so I’m going to you right now
 
I see you far war, oh
You, you, you, you
Spilling out the night
I’m going to get you
 

Zamba of the desynchronized

If I were a trobadour
like the ones who drink and invite
the roads of the lord
or of who scratches his back.
 
I'd wander over there
broadcasting all day long
what whill come from you
in a melody shape.
 
All that I say yesterday
I already said it tomorrow
I'll love you since always
and I loved you still.
 
Though I'm not a trobadour
like the ones who wandered before
through the blooming road
of not signaled lands.
 
A historian will say
that those things never happened
but I feel the freshness
of a coming past.
 
And I remember that I'll say
what they said tomorrow
I'll love you since always
and I loved you still.
 

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.

Slacker

I'm an imbecile, I'm half moron
I'm null, I'm a retarded
I never overcame the fool age
I have wood on the head
I don't know if you can see
the idiot face or the crappy look
though I'm also a clumsy
and if I get tired someday I turrn into a goon.
 
Slacker, Slacker
 
I'm a clodhopper, a stupid, a silly
I don't even know where I'm standing
I don't figure out anything
I'm dumb and dumber, I'm a dazed
I have an ice cream crushed in my forehead
I have detergent in my mind
I'm half dopey, and three quarters goofy
I'm stubborn, I'm an asshole
 
Slacker, Slacker
 
I'm a dimwit, I'm a dope
I'm jackass and a crackpot
I'm a slacker I'm a high rank imbecile
I'm half douchebag, a good-for-nothing
I'm a berk, I'm a simpleton
a sleepyhead who never wakes up
I'm a danger, I'm an useless
I'm half dull, I'm like a
heaven punishment, a true scourge
I'm a mess, I'm a pain
I'm way worse than a zero at the left
I'm a plague, I'm a fucking imbecile
 
Slacker, Slacker
 

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.

I can't live without my Movicom

Every monday morning
I get up, I put on the suit
and the tie. And though I can forget
the rest, there's one thing
I don't forget, when you see me
if you look. There's an object
that I can't stop carrying,
because I'm a social being above all.
It's impossible to have a life
that isn't sealed by the communication.
That's why I always come out with my Movicom.
That's why I always come out with my Movicom.
With my Movicom, With my Movicom,
com com com com com com com com.
 
If by the street you ever
see me walking, and you think
that maybe I'm talking all alone,
look that I'm not, that suddenly
I'm talking by Movicom.
So beware, don't disturb me.
Though it might call your attention,
the conversation isn't your issue.
Every call is expensive,
I can't spoil myself
with any interruption.
Because my Movicom bill will go up-
And I can't live without my Movicom.
Without my Movicom, without my Movicom
com com com com com com com com.
 
Formerly, all the people
if they wanted to communicate
in the distance, it was a matter
of yelling. And then came
that invention of Graham Bell.
But today all that
as for me, it no longer runs.
I was left behind like the dinosaurs.
Because nowdays,
the simple fact of talking on the phone
implies a load of agreements,
if you're not doing it through a Movicom,
assembled in China, Korea or Japan,
or with the inscription Made in Hong Kong
Hong Kong Hong Kong Hong Kong Hong Kong.
 
There ends my dear listeners
this small discourse.
For more details, I'll give you the number
that you must dial to find me,
as long as you have the warning
of being brief in your calls
and not abusing of my availability.
To harvest the conversation.
So far this month
I had to sell my stereo
and pawn my water heater.
And all that to keep my Movicom.
Nobody will take off my Movicom.
Borombombom, borombombom,
always with me my Movicom.
 

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Werner

Werner was an ignorant, immoral, morbid, sordid, liar, ugly, naughty, dirty, abominable, perverted, late, luxurious, stubborn, lazy, selfish, academic, messy, unskilled, hateable, mean, shy, idle, schemer, concieted, lewd, careless, gross, culture vulture, greedy, libertine, haughty, traitor, flirty, arrogant, proud, presumptuous, unwise, night bird, outlaw, vain, obnoxious, too full of himself, clumsy, mistrustful, cheater, swindler, malicious, tasteless, irascible, fatuous, obstinate, vicious, scornful, filthy, abstruse, rake, cruel, gossiper, vulgar, heartless, rude, misterious, boastful, balky, wicked, shameless, tightfisted, hoggish, vague, informal, picky, intractable, smug, malicious, suspicious, spoiled, stupid, nosy, swank, useless, senile, impolite, flighty, loud-mouthed, dreadful, pig-headed, unloyal, immature, despicable, ill-mannered, gullible, incompetent, insolent, betrayer, unsteady, annoying, moron, rustic, brazen, distrusting, unsociable, hostile, hurried, troublemaker, unfamous, butt kisser and foul-mouthed.
 
You're lucky, daughter, that you didn't marry him.
 

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Vertigo

When I see you,
I don't know which is the north,
I don't know which is the south,
I don't know where is the east,
and I can't distinguish the west.
 
And is because of that,
that I go anywhere
far from your love, my dear.
And then you have to come to rescue me
from the arms of any other woman.
 
Don't put that chain over me.
Don't put that chain over me.
I promise I'll orient myself,
when I'm able to look at you,
without suffering that vertigo that makes me fall in love
with any living substance
walking under the sun.
 
When I see you,
I don't know if I come or go,
I don't know if I already came.
I can't know either which is the way,
nor how to walk it nor to return.
 
Everything mixes up.
I don't know which is wiht you,
I don't know which is with who,
nor if there's something I shold know abour someone,
or if all the world is just for you.
 
When I see you, I don't know which is.
 

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Paper dreams

I dream that my bird is a hummingbird
but with fangs like a boar.
And its chant sounds like a siren
through San José and Yi.
 
I dreamed that the whole world was a mistake
and we had to pass liquid paper on it
I also dream with newspaperss printed in brown paper
to pack them better.
 
The little children who go to the kindergarden dream
that one is Sylvester and the other is Tweety.
 
The day before yesterday I dreamed I was studying english
in a book all written in japanese.
And tomorrow I'll dream I study pig latin
but backwards.
 
When in this neverland
they hear voices asking 'Is the wolf there?'
Another voice answers 'I'm not but if you miss me
you'll see me soon.'
 
The little children who go to the kindergarden dream
that one plays the bow and the other the violin.
 
And tomorrow I dream that you are yesterday,
and your grandfather is yet to be born,
though your two grandchildren bring you to the kindergarden
a Menier alfajor.
 
The autumn comes, all is of paper.
The notebooks have laurel leaves,
and their springs are curls of your black hair
dyed in pastel.
 
The little children who go to the kindergarden dream
that one is the beginning and the other is the end.
 

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All with sponsors

He got up. Alondra.
He got dressed. Calvin Klein.
He brushed. Colgate.
He took breakfast. Nestlé.
 
He got up to date. Hitachi.
He hurried. Tissot.
He shaved. Gillette.
Whistling. Polygram.
 
He worked. IBM.
He wrote. Sylvapen.
He corrected. Liquid Paper.
Couching. Lucky Strike.
 
Then he ate. McDonalds.
And got relief. Yastá.
He harmed himself. 100 Pipers.
He concealed. Chiclets.
 
He entertained. Atari.
And gained knowledge. Paidós.
He got amazed. George Lucas.
He debated. Foucalt.
 
He fell in love. Los Panchos.
He got better. Ginseng.
He perfumed. Rabanne.
And he came. Playboy.
 
He lubricated. Texaco.
Paying. Master Card.
He rubberized. Pirelli.
And he died. Peugeot.
 

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All for me

So many workers working,
giving up their lives
without ever seeing the light.
So many children begging,
or that one who's selling
in some bus.
So many families who can't
make the ends meet and prepare
their emigration plan.
Thousands of workers who work
to an unbearable beat
......and it's all for me.
 
So much misery, so much
lack of life jumping
at my sight everywhere.
So many families begging
to God because they can't
pay the rent.
So much disgrace for the poor,
who when he gets the paycheck
he can't redeem
all the bills I placed,
because what he produces
.......is all for me.
Is all for me.
Is all for me.
 
All for me.
 
So much poverty suffered
by the people who think
the want to live better.
So many increases in the prices.
Life is a trapeze
for the worker.
So much wealth produced
that never in his life
his producer will see,
because it goes to my profit
and the law gives me the right
..........to use it for myself.
 
So much packed garbage
of safe sell
by the publicity.
So many ways of disturbing
at the expense of the crude
popular innocence.
The gods who listen to my prayer
send me the outcasts
of our society
for Manos a la Obra
make a work
........just for me.
Just for me.
Just for me.
 

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Your world and mine

Your world and mine are different. Try to understand.
If it was possible to overcome the distance
I'd be running to get your love.
Your world and mine are different. You don't speak spanish.
Because you live on Mars. I live on the Earth
and we feel differently the sunbeams.
There's no water in your ground to quench my thirst.
If you want to bring, I'll be always at your mercy.
And if you come to see me in my hometown,
the science will lock you in crystal cells.
And they'll study you, and they'll stuff you,
and they'll reduce our love to yesterday memories.
 
Your world and mine are different. You shouldn't insist.
I have no hopes to get in the NASA
and I'm scared of riding a space shuttle.
Don't keep saying that there's life on Mars. You're the exception.
The rest are rocks, absolute desert
and expired volcanoes like our passion.
You can offer little oxygen.
Your atmosphere is poor. You should know it.
And thre's not a damn fleur de lis
that can improve the air of your country.
There's no living space in your native ground,
for the foundations of our matrimony bed.
 
Your sky and mine are different even by the color.
Yours is pink. Mine is blue.
Because you're the girl, I'm the boy.
Your body and mine are different by their constitution.
You can't touch me and I can't hold you.
Chemistry won't accept our union.
You world doesn't have clouds for dreaming
nor oceans where we can sail.
Only argon winds. Illusionless world.
You don't understand because the creator didn't give you a heart.
 
Your world and mine are different. If you come to my house,
some neighbours by seeing your shape,
will believe that is Spielberg who came to film.
Your body and mine aren't consistent. We will never be three.
And if I'm wrong and someday you give birth
to a son, his name will be Alien 10.
The boy won't learn anything in school.
He will eat all his schoolmates
in a flash. And he'll eat us too.
So forget me dear, this love will never have support.
 

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Superman

It's true that I learnt to defend myself in life
That if somebody ever goes against my stuff
If a burglar, if a thief puts my house in his aim
The little that God gave me, as long as it is possible
I'll safeguard it with the greatest efforts
that's the truth, but it's not enough with that
I can't believe myself more than what I am
I'm a wild, normall, common, limited, insufficient man...
 
Superman! Don't forget about me!
Superman! Don't forget about me!
Superman! What am I without you?
Remember me! I want to be always like this!
At your protection! Superman!
 
By knowing that you're here, I always sleep calm
and I can live in peace, without worrying about anything
If someday I want to take a walk at night
I can do it indeed thanks to you. Thank you!
Thank you! My only great fear, what really scares me
is the fact of thinking that you weren't there years ago
and if you leave someday, the things that could happen
Tell me that you'll stay! That you'll keep protecting us...
 
Superman! We depend on you!
Superman! We depend on you!
Superman! Give us faith! Help us!
Always defend us! We give it all for you!
God's messenger! Superman!
 
If you don't show up one day, then who would take care
of the things of my boss, who thanks to him I work
If you don't show up one day so much wealth in the world
instead of belonging to their legitimate owners
would be a prey of some unprincipled bandit
like the one who for getting bald and ugly
had to wage war on his fellow men,
How far can reach, Superman, the baldness?
 
Superman! Give me your protection!
Superman! Give me your protection!
Superman! When you're in action!
From my couch! Full of admiration!
I sing this song to you! Superman!
 

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A song written by an imbecile

A rainy afternoon, and in the living room,
a truco hand. And on the radio, my dear
a song written by an imbecile.
 
A friend talk, an old tablecloth,
a homemade cake, a tea cup,
And on the radio, my dear, a song written by an imbecile.
 
An apple pie, newspaper supplements,
a blind beat. And on the radio, my dear
a song written by an imbecile.
 
A rainy afternoon. We can't get out.
We remain at home sitting to listen
on the radio, my dear, a song written by an imbecile.
 
A boring afternoon. Too much making love.
Listening the transistor radio which plays my dear
a song written by an imbecile.
 

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Serenade

I will sing to you with this guitar that my grandfather
used to win the heart of who with time
would become his actual wife.
 
A serenade full of important passions
inspired in poems of the books
that you gave me to read when we met.
 
And I stand here like a moveless picketer
to dedicate you my song until you go out to the balcony
and listen to the message of my heart.
 
I know that my guitar and the strength of my singing
will ovecome the 19 floors that there are to the place
that your flat occupies in this monoblock.
 
You will listen to me. I have many things to say to you
and I chose this way of the serenade
because it looks more enjoyable than sending an email.
 
And besides, you leave them unreplied many times
maybe you don't even read them and you erase them
without suspecting they could give you a reason
 
to live in a different way
to the one you knew. Because by my side
you'd know once and for all what love is.
 
Come to the balcony. Lean on a little and you'll see
that when you listen what I have prepared
to sing to you, you won't resist it.
 
I'm here, at the foot of your building
practicing vocalizations for when you decide
to pay me attention, you understand my feelings
 
and for listening closer what finally
your heart will discover as the purest truth
you'll feel the impulse of coming to me.
 
Because it's so. When one glimpses the happiness
that was hidden, one can't contain oneself
of going the soonest as possible beside that being
 
who put light in what before was in the shadows
without passing by the gloom that in a single flash
cleared so much clarity from the dark.
 
And by listening this serenade that I'll sing to you
I'm sure that you won't hold yourself
and you'll jump from the balcony.
 
I wait for you here. I will catch you with my guitar.
Its strings are elastic and is very fine
the wood used to carve the tuning fork.
 
You can jump. I see that you took my advice,
you're coming to my arms, my dear, you're reach...Oh!
 

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Santa Bernardina del Monte

In order to save electric energy, the authorities of Santa Bernardina del Monte decreed that at twelve AM of the day twenty five to set the clocks back one hour, therefore showing the eleven PM of the day twenty four. That way the people who had to get up at seven AM on the day twenty five wouldn't have to turn on any light, because in fact it would be eight AM and the sun would be already on full activity.
When the time came -twelve AM of the day twenty five- the people of Santa Bernardina del Monte, dutiful like they were, set their clocks back one hour. Were then -or were again- eleven PM of the day twenty four. One hour later, the clocks would show again the twelve AM of the day twenty five. The people of Santa Bernardina del Monte, dutiful like they were, set their clocks back one hour. Were then again eleven PM of the day twenty four. One hour later, the clocks would show again the twelve AM of the day twenty five.
- What do I do, mom? -asked a young boy-. Should I set the clock back?
- Of course, son: we must be respectful with the decrees of the authority -replied the mother.
All the inhabitants of Santa Bernardina del Monte behaved in coherency with that precept. But an hour later the clocks would show again the twelve AM of the day twenty five. Again, the peaceful inhabitants of Santa Bernardina del Monte set their clocks back one hour. They started then to wait the passing of the sixty minutes remaining to set the clocks back again. But some were sleepy and went to sleep, not without leaving established shifts beforehand in such way that there was always someone awake at the time of setting the clock back.
On the next morning were still eleven PM of the day twenty four. One hour later were twelve AM of the day twenty five, and immediatelly after were eleven PM of the day twenty four again. The offices and the businesses were at nine hours from opening. One hour later were at eight, but in less time that a rooster needs to sing -end effectively many were doing it- they were at nine hours again.
The inhabitants of Santa Bernardina del Monte, of keeping themselves in that state, they would have perished of starvation. However very different was the cause of their death. Three days after the time change, an officer of the central government, who was passing by the town, understood the attitude of the natives like a general strike for indefinite time, and reported it to his superiors. Little after, ten thousand soldiers went with helicopters and tanks to Santa Bernardina, annihilating the insurgents. The clocks of the town, then, were left divided between two categories: the ones that damaged bythe bullets, were stuck in a time between the eleven PM and the twelve AM, and the ones that kept working freely, being capable of reaching beyond the twelve AM with nobody grabbing them by the hands to set them back. Anyway, some hours after, they by themselves were showing the eleven PM again, like if they felt nostalgia for their well-behaved owners, may them rest in peace.
 

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Romance of the orchestra and the tail pipe

The orchestra was going on a bus. They were taking the concert the had done in the city A, to offer it in the city B. Some days after they would pick it up to bring it to the city C. The woman who played depending on the cases the third clarinet, bass clarinet, or nothing, had took her head through the window and she was enjoying the wind, wich changed the hair setting. There wasn't wind, in fact, but the motion of the bus at certain speed pretended it to be. That bus had no windows that could be opened, but the clarinetist had used the red hammer that was in the middle for emergency cases and she had broken the glass and she was leaning out her head through there. She was fed up of her work. Like most of her orchestra fellows, she hated music and her biggest wish was to be able to quit that job and not devote herself to anything. The glass breaking and the fact of leaning out her hear through the window, was a symbolic mean that she had found to express her wish of leaving everything. A bassoonist who was sitting by her side leaned out his head too for the glass breaking had left enough space. But while the clarinetist was looking up to the sky, the bassoonist was looking down. He was also fed up of the orchestra and of having to study difficult passages without knowing to read music completely. Because honestly, he was only familiarized with certain usual combinations of figures. But when he came upon different sequences, he was only playing some approximation. And he played them with low volume, trying to hide behind the sound of the other instruments. But when it was a passage with nothing behind where to hide, he was feeling like giving up. And as his temperament was more self destructive than the clarinetist, he was looking down, expressing his symbolic wish of dying under the wheels of the bus. 'What are you looking at?' asked the clarinetist, anxious before the chance that he had found a scape. 'Nothing, nothing' he said, hiding his suicidal fantasy. 'What's that?' she asked, pointing at something appearing in some part of the edge of the bodywork. 'I don't know, it looks like a tail pipe' he said. 'A tail pipe, it's my chance to scape' she thought. And she jumped entirely through the window trying to reach the pipe. The bassoonist saw how she was successful in her business, being sucked by the pipe and dissapearing in its interior. Despite the noise of the engine and the wind, the bassoonist could hear some seconds later some kind of clarineted burp, which was the chosen form by the pipe for expressing its satisfaction by the ingestion made. Some of the other musicians went closer to poke around and the news was spreaded to the rest of the bus. With great jubilee, all the sections of the orchestra went going through the tail pipe. But the bassoonist didn't take courage to jump. He didn't know if that tail pipe would lead to happiness or to a sudden death. But his temperament was more like for a gradual death. He went to sit next to the driver and looking at the clouds coming together in the horizon, he said 'Crazy weather, isn't it?'
 

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Recitalis Interruptus

The recital was about to begin.
The attendant was placing the tips in his pockets.
The lights of the hall went off
and from the stage went on.
The audience applauded.
Alex Estragón made his appearence and saluted the audience
with a graceful bow.
Then he sat at the piano and began
with the 2nd prelude of Bach's Well-Tempered Clavier.
It was the first piece appearing in the leaflet
but the spectators haven't gathered
at the hall by the repertoire but for
the hight hierarchy of the player
and his international prestige.
While he was playing, it started to seem for Estragón
that there was some kind of murmur among the audience,
and didn't understand what was going on.
He imagined that maybe they sold
more tickets than what the hall capacity allowed
because he thought he heard protests.
He also thought that maybe the air conditioning was broken
and that the disturbance was for that.
He tried to focus in the music and not pay attention.
But when he began with Chopin's Heroic Polonaise,
which had more silences between some chords,
he could hear clearly that a spectator
was shouting form the stalls: 'Hey. My niece plays that.'
The pianist ignored the comment and continued,
but an old woman said: 'Yeah. My granddaughter too.
At first I didn't recognized it, but she plays this piece.'
'And how does she plays it?' Asked the one in the next seat.
'Way better than this man.' she said.
'She plays it more paused, calmer.'
'Yeah, this man is histeric' said many.
'Besides anybody can play this' said another.
'Yeah. I have the CD' said a guy.
'If I knew he would play this, I wouldn't come.
I'd stay quiet at home,
listening the CD and watching TV.'
Estragón, nervous and embarrassed, went out of scene
and asked his manager what the fuck was going on.
'Well Alex' answered the saddened manager.
'You're gonna have to change the rubric.
People don't want covers.'
 

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Return to normality

Finally it passed, it ended, the terrible terror.
The ferocius nightmare that fortunately is almost gone.
It let us wake up under a sun of new faith.
 
Finally it's broken, it's defeated, it's dead, it's over.
Or it's about to be over. It's known that it will be over.
Many people came out, it's back here.
 
Why it happened, I don't know. Some say it was
the triumph of reason, or the strength of the population.
The thing is that we meet again with a tradition.
 
Of peace, well-living, of voting from time to time
and enjoying your days without anybody saying
what is allowed to listen, see or write.
 
Finally cleared, died down this rain of horror,
downpours of authority, 'Documents, sir, where are?'
'Don't take me. I have them at home right there.'
 
I know. You'll say, 'more is needed, some things are left behind.
There are some troubles standing' But we see advances daily.
A commitee is working next home.
 
Maybe we could have in some time that they give
a solution to that issue of the old unemployment
for everyone to become part of the nation.
 
There if it's also given, by the tought struggle
or a subimperial gift, the greatest total freedom,
we could stick to the national anthem.
 
And yes. we have to hear over there that living is hard.
That the wages aren't enough neither to feed a child.
It always happened like that more or less.
 
If else, go ask the old men at the bar
if here in the fifties, the real income was high.
If the union life was just a decoration.
 
That way will rule again here in Uruguay,
what was always the normal. You might say it's not the ideal,
but we must safeguard what is traditional.
 
To ask, to achieve the supression of the expensive soap
of the state of exception, and recover the nature
of citizens not subjected to dissapearing.
 
For a natural Uruguay, where the rich will be
always rich, and the poor over there, if he ever pretends to reach
equal rights, will bring the state of exception.
 
Which, in the end, like when it's carnival,
and the murga is about to leave, it says goodbye and also,
that someday it promise to return, and rule.
 
But today, just think, that it leaves, that is almost not here.
the ferocius nightmare that fortunately is almost gone.
Though you know nobody died of almost.
 
Finally. Finally. What?
 

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