Bivoj (Live) - Karel Kryl Übersetzung ins Englische

Bivoj (Live)

(Osmeho listopadu sestnact set dvacet
U letohradku Hvezda na Bile hore zustal
Z vojsk Kralovstvi ceskeho posledni
Praporec, moravsky praporec Slikuv.
U zdi letohradku padl do posledniho muze.
Pisen nazvana Posledni Moravan.)
Pod bilou zdi
Ma blato
Barvu perletovou
A zvony odletely
Za vetrem do Rima
Obzor se rdi
Muj tato
Hanbou sarlatovou
Uz jsme tu osamely
Z krize se nesnima
Prapory mdle
Uz pali
Ruce vlajkonosu
Jen oci pod prilbici
Snad jeste doufaji
A mlhy zle
Se vali
Do der od hrabosu
I do ran na orlici
Kterou uz poutaji
Rudy kohout na obzoru
Roztahuje spary
Hreben vetru rozcesava
Pera plamena
Verili jsme na pokoru
U popravci kary
Zlata doba nenastava
Bude kamena
Je pry to cti
Az na dno
Zustat pod prapory
Mit dusi nestydatou
A mozek bez ceny
Byt kralem lsti
A snadno
Vzit si bez pokory
Na svadbu se Zubatou
Zelezne prsteny
Neni to med
Zas piti
Cisi vrchovatou
A verit na proroky
V choralu polnice
Sto cernych let
Nam sviti
Hvezdou jedovatou
Na erbu pro otroky
Pro nase dedice
Rudy kohout na obzoru
Roztahuje spary
Hreben vetru rozcesava
Pera plamena
Verili jsme na pokoru
U popravci kary
Zlata doba nenastava
Bude kamena
Bude kamena
Bude kamena

Bivoj (Live)

(Eighth of November, sixteen twenty
At the Summer Palace in White Mountain remained
Of the armies of the Czech Kingdom; the last
Banner, the Moravian banner of Slik.
By the walls of the Summer Palace fell to the last man.
(Song entitled The Last Moravian)
Beneath the white wall
She has mud
Pearl colored
And the bells have flown off
To Rome with the wind
The horizon is blushing
My father
With scarlet shame
We are now alone
There is no escape from the crisis
Banners languidly
Now fall
The hands of the standard-bearer
Only eyes beneath the helmet
Perhaps they still have hope
And evil mists
Are rolling in
Into the holes of the mole
And into the wounds of the eagle
Who is now being bound
The red rooster on the horizon
Is spreading its wings
The gale's comb is combing out
The feathers of fire
We believed in humility
Before the executioner's cart
The golden age is not coming
It will be stone
It is said to be an honor
To the very bottom
To stay beneath the banners
To have an unashamed soul
And a brain without value
To be the king of cunning
And easily
To take without humility
To the wedding with the Grim Reaper
Iron bands
It is not sweet
To drink again
Foreign overflows
And to believe in prophets
In the bugle's choir
One hundred black years
Are shining for us
With a poisonous star
On the crest for slaves
For our heirs
The red rooster on the horizon
Is spreading its wings
The gale's comb is combing out
The feathers of fire
We believed in humility
Before the executioner's cart
The golden age is not coming
It will be stone
It will be stone
It will be stone