Текст и перевод песни Zdob și Zdub - Trece vremea omului
Trece vremea omului
The Time of Man Passes
Trece
vremea
spicului
The
time
of
the
rye
passes
In
bataia
vantului
In
the
blowing
of
the
wind
Asa-i
rodul
spicului
Such
is
the
fruit
of
the
rye
Iaca
este,
iaca
nu-i
Here
it
is,
there
it
isn't
Trece
vremea
vinului
The
time
of
wine
passes
In
racoarea
beciului
In
the
coolness
of
the
cellar
Asa-i
gustul
vinului
Such
is
the
taste
of
wine
Iaca
este,
iaca
nu-i
Here
it
is,
there
it
isn't
Lasa
plugul
brazda
deasa
The
plough
leaves
a
thick
furrow
Curge
apa
in
izvor
Water
flows
in
the
fountain
Am
avut
o
viata
aleasa
I
have
had
a
chosen
life
Dar
tot
nu
mai
vreau
sa
mor
But
still
I
do
not
want
to
die
Trece
vremea
gandului,
The
time
of
thought
passes,
Cautarea
rostului
The
search
for
purpose
Asa-i
miezul
gandului
Such
is
the
essence
of
thought
Iaca
este,
iaca
nu-i
Here
it
is,
there
it
isn't
Trece
vremea
dorului
The
time
of
longing
passes
In
bataia
pieptului
In
the
beating
of
the
chest
Asa-i
focul
dorului
Such
is
the
fire
of
longing
Iaca
este,
iaca
nu-i
Here
it
is,
there
it
isn't
Moara
macina
faina,
The
mill
grinds
flour,
Painea
creste
in
cuptor
Bread
rises
in
the
oven
Am
avut
o
viata
plina
I
have
had
a
full
life
Dar
tot
nu
mai
vreau
sa
mor
But
still
I
do
not
want
to
die
Moara
macina
faina
The
mill
grinds
flour
Painea
creste
in
cuptor
Bread
rises
in
the
oven
Am
avut
o
viata
plina
I
have
had
a
full
life
Dar
tot
nu
mai
vreau
sa
mor
But
still
I
do
not
want
to
die
Trece
vremea
omului
The
time
of
man
passes
In
pazirea
dorului
In
the
keeping
of
longing
Asa-i
viata
omului
Such
is
the
life
of
man
Iaca
este,
iaca
nu-i
Here
it
is,
there
it
isn't
Trece
vremea
neamului
The
time
of
the
nation
passes
In
schimbarea
veacului
In
the
change
of
centuries
Asa-i
soarta
neamului
Such
is
the
fate
of
the
nation
Iaca
este,
iaca
nu-i
Here
it
is,
there
it
isn't
Oile
se
duc
la
strunga
The
sheep
go
to
the
pen
Cucul
canta
in
pridvor
The
cuckoo
sings
in
the
porch
Am
avut
o
viata
lunga
I
have
had
a
long
life
Dar
tot
nu
mai
vreau
sa
mor
But
still
I
do
not
want
to
die
Trece
vremea
spicului
The
time
of
the
rye
passes
In
bataia
vantului
In
the
blowing
of
the
wind
Asa-i
rodul
spicului
Such
is
the
fruit
of
the
rye
Iaca
este,
iaca
nu-i
Here
it
is,
there
it
isn't
Trece
vremea
vinului
The
time
of
wine
passes
In
racoarea
beciului
In
the
coolness
of
the
cellar
Asa-i
gustul
vinului
Such
is
the
taste
of
wine
Iaca
este,
iaca
nu-i
Here
it
is,
there
it
isn't
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Авторы: andrei copot, roman iagupov, mihail gincu
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