Paroles et traduction Kendi - Slike

Slike

Izvučen iz konteksta, uvučen u vorteks
Orkestra uma dok vučem svoj potez
Smrt igra šah, kocka se sa životom
Tražim protivotrov da konačno sklopim oko
Jer sam jebeno budan, hronična insomnija
Hodam poput zombija, mozak ko da sam Zodijak
Serijski ubica u pojam
Ubica vlastitih snova
Kada svane zora, zaspim ko sova, u svetu pastelnih boja
To je ovaj ritam, nijanse ovog bita
Il' je samo moj trip, pa se pitam
Da li vidiš instrumentale u bojama?
Da li verujete u slučajnost brojeva?
Ja ne, jer danas je 12.11.
A kazaljke pokazuju na 23: 23
Spooky shit, ništa nije slučajno
I namerno sam ovaj bit isključio
Još smo u fazi atmosfere
Ovaj bit je sivo crn, maslinasto zelen
Boje zrna kafe, preko tamne pozadine
Što se šunja kao crni panter
Ujed crne mambe, držim toksin u ustima
Ali pre nego što pljunem ja je osetim pod prstima (koga?)
Ova matrica je suva
Al' publika je polugluva na oba uva
Zvuk je suv kao pustinja
Percipiram ga služeći se pređašnjim iskustvima
Postajem isfrustriran jer publika je slepa
Pa kada slikam kao da pričam u vetar

Ponekad progledaš tek kad' zatvoriš oči (zatvoris oči)
I u tome je draž, i ne traži ga samo će doći - savršen zločin
Kad ubijam bit, podari ušima vid do daljnjeg slušamo slike
1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8 ujutru
Brojim svaki sat, svaki minut i sekundu
Polokove mrlje, Rafaelov andjeo
Karavađo i Mikelanđelo, to su
Pikasove muze, Degaove balerine
Ovo je muzej, ovi tekstovi su galerije

Dugo budan do rano u zoru
Il' u "drugi sumrak", kako je zovu
Kafa i pakla na stolu, simptpomi nervnog sloma
Zvukovi hiphop-a i neosoul-a
Dnevna soba i ja slušamo Roots-e
Dok čekamo na usrano Sunce, više volim noć
Slušam zvuk vukova
Huk ćukova, put je dug, začarani krug pun duhova
Majk je moj kist, matra moj list
Pratimo instinkt, i patim od istih
Jer noćne ptice spavaju danju
Pa noću progledam jer, Mesec mi pravi putanju
Upadnem u delirijum, postavim teoriju
Da je zemaljska kugla nečiji terarijum
Planiram bekstvo iz ovog zatočenistva
Pre nego što započnem išta
Uzimam novi format - monohromat i sepia
Cepam i sečem, lepim i delim slepima
Vajam rime od gline i plastelina
Crtam linije po rasterima flow - masterima
Zvuk je suv kao pustinja
Percipiram ga služeći se pređašnjim iskustvima
Postajem isfrustriran jer kad bacam rime
K'o da bacam bisere pred svinje, jebem ti

Ponekad progledaš tek kad' zatvoriš oči (zatvoris oči)
I u tome je draž, i ne traži ga samo će doći - savršen zločin
Kad ubijam bit, podari ušima vid do daljnjeg slušamo slike
1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8 ujutru
Brojim svaki sat, svaki minut i sekundu
Polokove mrlje, Rafaelov andjeo
Karavađo i Mikelanđelo, to su
Pikasove muze, Degaove balerine
Ovo je muzej, ovi tekstovi su galerije

Pesnici su vojnici na noćnim stražama
Lopovi što imaju zavidnu moć opažanja
I zato sve što drugi ne vide ja preslikam
Preko tvrde podloge jer i S kick-a
Je slikar, s njim preko rep snimka hoću da
Menjam noć u dan, jer postajem zloćudan
Impresija, rađanje Sunca, zora
Zona drugog sumraka, sezona lova
Na slova koja spajam u remek delo
Sliku u kojoj reč nije hiljaditi deo
Leonardo, ako matra je platno

Images

Pulled from context, drawn into the vortex
Mind's orchestra as I make my move
Death plays chess, gambles with life
I search for an antidote to finally close my eyes
Because I'm fucking awake, chronic insomnia
I walk like a zombie, brain like I'm the Zodiac
A serial killer in concept
Killer of my own dreams
When dawn breaks, I sleep like an owl, in a world of pastel colors
It's this rhythm, the nuances of this beat
Or is it just my trip, so I wonder
Do you see instrumentals in colors?
Do you believe in the randomness of numbers?
I don't, because today is 12.11.
And the clock hands point to 23:23
Spooky shit, nothing is accidental
And I turned off this beat on purpose
We're still in the atmosphere phase
This beat is grey-black, olive green
The colors of coffee beans, over a dark background
That sneaks like a black panther
Black mamba bite, I hold the toxin in my mouth
But before I spit it out, I feel it under my fingers (who?)
This matrix is dry
But the audience is half-deaf in both ears
The sound is dry like a desert
I perceive it using past experiences
I'm getting frustrated because the audience is blind
So when I paint, it's like talking to the wind

Sometimes you only see clearly when you close your eyes (close your eyes)
And that's the charm, and don't seek it, it will just come - the perfect crime
When I kill the beat, I give your ears sight, we listen to pictures from now on
1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8 in the morning
I count every hour, every minute and second
Pollock's splatters, Raphael's angel
Caravaggio and Michelangelo, those are
Picasso's muses, Degas' ballerinas
This is a museum, these lyrics are galleries

Awake for a long time until early dawn
Or in the "second twilight", as they call it
Coffee and hell on the table, symptoms of a nervous breakdown
The sounds of hip-hop and neo-soul
The living room and I are listening to The Roots
While we're waiting for the shitty Sun, I prefer the night
I listen to the sound of wolves
The hooting of owls, the road is long, a vicious circle full of ghosts
The mic is my brush, the beat my canvas
We follow instinct, and I suffer from the same ones
Because nocturnal birds sleep during the day
So I see clearly at night because the Moon sets my path
I fall into delirium, I set up a theory
That the globe is someone's terrarium
I plan an escape from this captivity
Before I start anything
I take a new format - monochrome and sepia
I tear and cut, I glue and share with the blind
I sculpt rhymes from clay and plasticine
I draw lines on grids, flow masters
The sound is dry like a desert
I perceive it using past experiences
I'm getting frustrated because when I throw rhymes
It's like casting pearls before swine, fuck it

Sometimes you only see clearly when you close your eyes (close your eyes)
And that's the charm, and don't seek it, it will just come - the perfect crime
When I kill the beat, I give your ears sight, we listen to pictures from now on
1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8 in the morning
I count every hour, every minute and second
Pollock's splatters, Raphael's angel
Caravaggio and Michelangelo, those are
Picasso's muses, Degas' ballerinas
This is a museum, these lyrics are galleries

Poets are soldiers on night watch
Thieves with an enviable power of observation
And that's why I translate everything that others don't see
Over a hard surface because even the S kick
Is a painter, with him over the rap recording I want to
Change night into day, because I become malicious
Impression, sunrise, dawn
The second twilight zone, hunting season
For the letters that I combine into a masterpiece
A picture in which a word is not a thousandth part
Leonardo, if the beat is the canvas