Paroles et traduction Glaukoma - Zelatan

Zelatan

¿Qué es lo que te duele? Dime, ¿qué te duele?
¿Cuál es la cadena que impide que la cordura vuele?
Ves la sangre pero no puedes ver la herida,
Las caretas no protegen de los miedos de la vida.
Hay salida: vivir tras morir en el desierto,
Nadar en el pantano de los muertos.
Tomar la dirección prohibida hacia el camino menos corto,
Sentir tu nacimiento con el duelo de un aborto.
Gritar a las paredes, chillar a las esquinas,
Llamar a los fantasmas y escarbar entre las ruinas.
Ser testigo del poder de la locura en tu destino
Y entender por qué de tu alma eres tú mismo el asesino.
Cavar tu propia tumba y enterrar a las mentiras,
Florecer en el jardín de las respuestas, crueles y honestas.
¿Quieres cruzar la puerta? Es el abismo donde duele, donde inspira.

Beste gau bat pasa det esna zelatan,
Haizerik ez dabilela batel honen belatan.
Noiz sartzen dira musak poeten gelatan?
Askotan pensatzet hobe gendekela tabernatan.
Baino bazerek kantak ero honen liskarretan,
Hatz markak dauden bezela kartzelako kristaletan.
Nere bilaketan mila akats, mila zauri,
Ta ez da urik gelditzen putzu ilun eta sakonetan.
Metaforetan, hainbat korapilo gordeketan,
Estilo pilo bat estribilo gabeko akordeetan.
Itzal beltzak erne dauden gau hauetan,
Lau hanketan nabil etsipenen paraje lauetan.
Abuztuko ilargiarekin ernai,
Egunsenti berri bat eguzk argien zai.
Hautsontzia beteta, bizi bat bete zor patriketan.
Oheratu besterik ez det nahi.

Zein naiz?
Erantzunik gabeko bideetan nabil maiz.
Egun argiz deabru ta gauetan apaiz.
Zure begietara iritsi nintzen garaiz,
Ta ez zidaten erortzen utzi.

Zelatan

What is it that hurts you? Tell me, what is it that hurts you?
What is the chain that prevents reason from flying?
You see the blood but you cannot see the wound,
The masks do not protect from the fears of life.
There is a way out: to live after dying in the desert,
To swim in the swamp of the dead.
To take the forbidden direction towards the shortest path,
To feel your birth with the grief of an abortion.
To shout at the walls, to scream at the corners,
To call upon the ghosts and dig among the ruins.
To witness the power of madness in your destiny
And to understand why you are the murderer of your own soul.
To dig your own grave and bury the lies,
To flourish in the garden of answers, cruel and honest.
Do you want to cross the door? It is the abyss where it hurts, where it inspires.

This is another night I spend awake,
No wind blows on the sails of this boat.
When do the muses enter the poets' chambers?
I often think that they would be better off in taverns.
But knowing the songs in this madman's struggles,
Like the fingerprints on the crystals of a prison.
A thousand mistakes, a thousand wounds in my search,
And no water remains in the dark and deep wells.
In metaphors, many tangled secrets,
A pile of styles without a chorus in chords.
The black shadows are awake on these nights,
I walk on all fours in the desolate flatlands of despair.
Float with the August moon,
A new dawn in the harsh light of the sun.
The urn is full, a life full of debts to pay.
I just want to go to bed.

Who am I?
I often walk on paths with no answers.
A devil in daylight and a priest at night.
I came to your eyes in time,
And they didn't let me fall.