Paroles et traduction Edavārdi feat. Skutelis & Eliots - Paranoja

Paranoja

Mani vēro citu cilvēku acis
Viņi visi tēlo, plus bildē pases
Viņi domas caur zilbēm lasa
Tie kas – "Kas ir tālāk?" ar brillēm prasa
Viņi kreisi kā grillēts lasis
Tiem tas jāslēpj kā filmēts akts
Viņi atņem kripatas un sūkstas
Viņi visi ir ķirzakas un čūskas
Tā liekas par katru, kas nāk pretī
Ja man "Kā iet?" prasa tā debīli
Tad es atbildu prasti – "Tā, vecīt."
Bet gribu atcirst asi – "Klāt nelīst!"
Vieni mani uztver kā Nelly
Jo platas bikses un prāts debīls
Šīs ir vecas likstas kā Zenīts
Ja nejūties čsita kā derīgs
Es redzu jūs no sienu spraugām
Tik′ ar meliem var šo dienu baltāku
Padarīt, jo šo lieku galdā
Lai var pamanīt, kas notiek zem altāra
Visi apzinīgi piš ar kāju
Kamēr labsirdība ir vājums
Vietā, kur katrs ir letāls un king pin's
Man pietrūkst šis slepkavas instinkts
Katrs 3. ir naida pilns tips
Kurš sēž mājās un taisa kill list′us
Daudziem sirdsazpiņa nebūtu slogs
Ja par sliktām izdarībām nebūtu sods
Tāpēc es ļoti maz uzticos
Mani indēs droši pat uztinot
Tāpēc sēžu viens tāds drūms un saguris
Jo man ir paranoja, kurai grūti pazust

Es neguļu – bail, ka pamodīšos zārkā
Uz mani visi skatās, pat balodīši parkā
Man laikam izseko tas kamzolītī sārtā
Un vēlas sadedzināt – kā katoļi – uz sārta
Lai gan sodus pieņemts delikāti nest
Svešas acis mani noēd kā delikatesi
Es velku botas, lai pēdas neapēd trotuārs
Un veltu mokas, lai rētas sadzīst kā norunāts
Miesā šaubīgas vielas
Un mans skaistums liek man apšaubīt Dievu
Uz ielas visi vienādi, līdzīgi kā klišejas
Es aizeju no pūļa kā Frīdrihs Nitše
Ja vēlos pazust dūmos, man vajag ūdeni, jo acīs akmens
Skatos almanahā, jo tas, kā sacīt, – saknes
Sievietes mani nepamet, jo nespēj pacelt
Un cīnos, jo diena pienākumus nemēdz atcelt
Azazello – un kamēr Viņš nebūs miris
Es būšu ciets rieksts tāpat kā Brūss Vilis
Kad vienam Harijs Poters, citam – Aristotel(i)s
Jā, man arī pofig. Vecīt, kur ir popers?

Un tie visi komentāri? Beidziet laizīt man pautus
Trešdaļai no jums es labprāt raidītu pa ausi
To pašu roku, ko tev sniedzu klubā smaidīgs un jauks
Un tu nenojaut, cik patiesībā naidīgs un ļauns
Ir tas spēks, kas liek man naktīs vaidēt un kaukt
It kā kāds ar asu skalpeli iekšā graizītu man audus
Kad es pamostos kliegdams, man ir bailīgi un auksti
Un vairs nemēģinu iemigt, sēžu gaidīdams ausmu
Cik nakšu esmu pavadījis skaitīdams aunus
Tikai negribu beigt kā Vincents – graizīdams ausis
Vai tā kā mans vectēvs – šķaidīdams traukus
Man labāk patīk tos tukšot, šķaidīt un jaukt
To visu, kas ir plauktā un ir taisīts no grauda
Varbūt kādu dienu es būšu tiešām laimīgs un gauss
Un man būs mājas, kurās vienmēr būšu gaidīts un saukts
Smagu darbu dienu aizvadījis, taisīdams naudu
Saviem bērniem, kam ķiķināšu mainīdams autus
Bet laime ir jēdziens, kas ir mainīgs un trausls
Zinu – labāk dzīvot šodien, nekā gaidīt ko jaunu
Tomēr gaidu mañana, kas varbūt aizdzīs tās šausmas

Paranoia

I feel the stares of other people's eyes,
They all pretend, a photo in their passport lies.
They read my thoughts through the syllables I speak,
Those who ask "What's next?" with glasses, meek.
They're crooked like a grilled fish on a plate,
They must hide it like a filmed act, sealed by fate.
They take away crumbs and whisper low,
They're all lizards and snakes, you know.
It seems that way about everyone I meet,
When they ask me "How are you?" so foolishly and sweet.
Then I answer simply - "Alright, old man,"
But I want to snap back sharply - "Don't come near, understand!"
Some see me as Nelly,
Because of baggy pants and a silly mentality.
These are old woes like Zenith's prime,
If you don't feel worthy, like it's a crime.
I see you from the cracks in the wall,
Only with lies can this day be brighter at all.
Because I put this on the table bold,
So you can see what's happening beneath the altar, untold.
Everyone diligently pisses with their feet,
While kindness is a weakness, bittersweet.
In a place where everyone is lethal and a kingpin indeed,
I lack this killer instinct, a desperate need.
Every third person is a hate-filled type,
Who sits at home making kill lists, tight.
Heartache wouldn't be a burden for many, I confide,
If there were no punishment for evil deeds inside.
That's why I trust very little, you see,
They'd poison me even when wrapped up tightly.
So I sit here alone, gloomy and tired, it's true,
Because I have paranoia that's hard to subdue.

I don't sleep – afraid I'll wake up in a coffin,
Everyone's watching me, even pigeons in the park, scoffin'.
I think that guy in the pink straitjacket is stalking me,
And wants to burn me – like Catholics – on a stake, you see.
Although it is customary to bear punishments delicately,
Strange eyes devour me like a delicacy.
I wear boots so the sidewalk doesn't devour my feet,
And endure pain so the wounds heal like concrete.
Intoxicating substances course through my flesh,
And my beauty makes me doubt God, I confess.
Everyone on the street is the same, like clichés abound,
I leave the crowd like Friedrich Nietzsche, profound.
If I want to disappear into the smoke, I need water, 'cause there's stone in my eyes,
I look in the almanac, because it is, so to speak, – roots, my disguise.
Women don't leave me, because they can't lift my weight,
And I fight, because the day's duties they don't abate.
Azazello – and as long as He is not dead,
I'll be a tough nut to crack, just like Bruce Willis said.
When one has Harry Potter, another – Aristotle, it's true,
Yeah, I don't care either. Dude, where's the popper, too?

And all those comments? Stop licking my boots,
I'd gladly punch a third of you in the snoots.
The same hand I offer you at the club, smiling and kind,
And you have no idea how hateful and wicked you'll find.
Is the force that makes me moan and howl at night,
Like someone is carving my insides with a sharp scalpel, so bright.
When I wake up screaming, I'm scared and cold,
And I don't try to sleep anymore, just sitting waiting for horror bold.
How many nights have I spent counting sheep,
I just don't want to end up like Vincent – cutting off my ears so deep.
Or like my grandfather – smashing dishes with rage,
I prefer to empty them, shatter and disengage.
Everything that's on the shelf and is made of grain,
Maybe one day I'll be truly happy and tame.
And I'll have a home where I'll always be welcome and called,
After a hard day's work, making money, enthralled.
For my children, whom I'll tickle, changing their shoes with care,
But happiness is a concept that is fickle and rare.
I know – it's better to live today than to wait for something new,
Yet I wait for mañana, which may chase away those horrors, it's true.