Текст и перевод песни Marcelo - Danas neću napisati ništa

Danas neću napisati ništa

To je sad. Odjebi sve, slomi se i budi
Sam na ulici, u kišnu zoru bez ljudi,
Gde uranjaš u purpur jutra, sav zaokružen i ponosan
što lobanju ne potresa distorzija kosmosa.
To je sad. Trijumf, sklapam stranice notesa.
Neotesan osećaj da sam odvezan odzvanja.
Nema tu više ničega, sve upila je hartija.
Dobijena partija protiv muza i harpija.
Armija ideja više ne mrcvari leš ganglija.
Sad sam prazan i spokojan. Sutra, opet anarhija.
Al' sad, katarza. Hodam ulicom prazan.
I dišem. Osećam kišu i reč "sada".
Jer pisanje je probadanje duše oštrom olovkom
I štrcanje sebe na papir, ponovo i ponovo.
Sutra, biću opet savladan potrebom.
Al' to nije sad. Ne ovaj čas. Ne ovaj zov.
Refren (Lola):
Set me free, break these chains from my mind,
Set me free.
You're my muse, you're forever a part of me.
And you know I gave you everything.
Now, let me be. Set me free. Let me be.
Jer, veruj, ovi stihovi su meso. I krv. I kosti.
I najbolje parče duše.
I hod preko strune sa šansom da budeš srušen
U ružne bezdane mučne gde ohole muze mrze te.
To su noći kad iz glave ne cediš ništa.
Neće reč. A nekad se dešava instant,
Kao lavina, kulja iz tebe, reči i rečetine...
Osećaš moć, koje posle jedva setiš se
Kad nestane. Tad deluje kao magnovenje
Svaki tren ideje. I trip da neće nikad
Te ophrva, i tada imaš odvratan osećaj
Da je autor bez ideja najbednije biće kosmosa.
I to je to. Ti si rob. Diže te i spušta.
Bez pravila, bez reda, pravo sa dna do vrha,
I nazad. A kraj dela je tvoje malo "najzad".
To traje jako kratko. Ali to je ovo danas.
Bridge (Lola):
Let me be. Today I won't write anything.
Let me be. Today I won't write anything, anything, anything.
Ni o plesu sa njom, ni o šankeru što sluša,
Dok stavlja čep na komplikovane tunele duša,
Ni o šapatu što se nečujnim zvukom čuje,
Ni o lažima što se peglaju mukom rulje,
Ni o 20 iljada stomaka podbulih od mita,
Ne hvatam se u to kolo, danas totalno sam izvan.
Kavez na javi, kavez u glavi, a opet, blistam.
I živ sam, i danas neću napisati ništa.
Samo kiša, i ova prazna ulica, i šest sati izjutra.
Koračam izubijan.
Noći nespavanja, cigara, kafa i pića
Da bi nastala priča. Ili pak samo dva stihića.
Al' to sam ja. Pravi ja. Ne mogu drukčije.
Biram da me ovo spase. Biram da me ovo ubije.
Te su pesme sutra svačije, samo u ovaj tren
Su jedino moje. Žmurim i letim, nem.

Today I Won't Write Anything

This is it. Fuck everything, break down, and be
Alone on the street, in the rainy dawn without people,
Where you dive into the purple of the morning, whole and proud
That the distortion of the cosmos doesn't shake your skull.
This is it. Triumph, I close the pages of the notebook.
The rough feeling of being untied resonates.
There's nothing left here, the paper absorbed it all.
A game won against muses and harpies.
The army of ideas no longer mauls the corpse of ganglia.
Now I'm empty and calm. Tomorrow, anarchy again.
But now, catharsis. I walk the street empty.
And I breathe. I feel the rain and the word "now".
Because writing is piercing the soul with a sharp pencil
And splattering yourself onto paper, over and over again.
Tomorrow, I'll be overcome by the need again.
But that's not now. Not this moment. Not this call.
Chorus (Lola):
Set me free, break these chains from my mind,
Set me free.
You're my muse, you're forever a part of me.
And you know I gave you everything.
Now, let me be. Set me free. Let me be.
Because, believe me, these verses are flesh. And blood. And bones.
And the best piece of the soul.
And walking a tightrope with the chance of being thrown down
Into ugly, painful abysses where haughty muses hate you.
Those are the nights when you squeeze nothing from your head.
The word won't come. And sometimes it happens instantly,
Like an avalanche, it gushes out of you, words and gibberish...
You feel a power you can barely remember afterward
When it disappears. Then every moment of an idea seems like a hallucination
And the trip that it will never
Overwhelm you, and then you have the disgusting feeling
That an author without ideas is the most miserable being in the cosmos.
And that's it. You're a slave. It lifts you up and brings you down.
Without rules, without order, straight from the bottom to the top,
And back again. And the end of the work is your little "finally".
It lasts very briefly. But that's what this is today.
Bridge (Lola):
Let me be. Today I won't write anything.
Let me be. Today I won't write anything, anything, anything.
Not about dancing with her, not about the bartender who listens,
While he puts a cork on the complicated tunnels of souls,
Not about the whisper that is heard with a silent sound,
Not about the lies that are ironed out by the crowd's torment,
Not about 20 thousand stomachs swollen with myth,
I'm not joining that dance, today I'm totally out.
A cage in reality, a cage in the head, and yet, I shine.
And I'm alive, and today I won't write anything.
Just rain, and this empty street, and six in the morning.
I walk on, beaten.
Sleepless nights, cigarettes, coffee, and drinks
To create a story. Or maybe just two verses.
But that's me. The real me. I can't do it any other way.
I choose for this to save me. I choose for this to kill me.
Those songs will belong to everyone tomorrow, but at this moment
They're only mine. I close my eyes and fly, mute.