Paroles et traduction Marcelo - Kostim

Kostim

U jednoj ruci radža, a u drugoj bromazepam, hajd′
Cirni to odjednom i dobićeš svest Marčela. Sjaj,
Svetla bine, jeka aplauza mine – trezan, a mamuran zinem
Opet u bezdan tmine gde malo šta diše...
Dragi gosti, bina - to je kostim.
A ova tmina - tu su kosti ljudi ranjivih i prostih.
Tvoj heroj sam? Oprosti. Samo veruješ ovoj kori.
Tamo ispod - ona gori. Tamo zbunjen sam, kao mnogi.
Tamo trudim se da shvatim bol. Mučim se da bih vratio svoj
Um u šine razuma, bro, iz govna na koje vonja dno.
Kak'a je to laž: na bini si skroz car,
Kao da skroz znaš kako-gde-ko-šta.
Publika voljna da primi tvoj dah
Duše i skonta za sebe odgovore
što dižu glavu gore, izlaz iz noćne more,
Samoće i to je razlog zašto traže heroje.
A mi? Mi to radimo jer su potrebni i nama,
Jer nam tama kožu drapa... treba nam lek za strah taj.
Nekom od nas se ubio ćale. Nekog od nas ubija ćale.
Neko od nas ne zna šta će. Svako od nas je sjeban najpre,
Pa posle sve drugo. Sve što smo postali, sve što smo zgazili
Da budemo nađeni, a ne samo snađeni.
Svaki stih, svaki vers, svaka stvar je filter
Na koji nabijam srce da s druge strane sita sine.
Refren (Marčelo):
Izvini, ni ovu nisam pisao zbog tebe,
Nego da branim dete što se krije iza pesme.
Onog dečaka u sebi, onog Petra Pana iza.
I sve ovo radim samo da njega ne izdam.
Jer, java ga ždere i guta ga tmina.
I treba mu pomoć da ostane divan.
Zato, eto kostima, eto bina i rima,
I svega što radim samo da njega ne izdam.
Izvini.
(Ministar)
Tik-tak. Noć. Sat.
Čovek. Sam. Ćošak. Dlan.
Srča. Flaša. Duh. Tajac.
Bes. Tama. Vijuge. Prasak.
(Marčelo)
Solo. U srči sjebanih, slomljenih stvari
Gađam prazne flaše pikslom – ugođaj k′o u kuglani.
Zgrčen u ćošku na gajbi. Zgrčen u ćošku u glavi.
Bezvučje. Bezrečje. Ti i prazan papir.
A sutra – na intervju da predstavljaš ideju, stav,
K'o da nisi sinoć bio sav pregažen i umoran
Od svega, očajan... to nikad ne piše u štampi.
Publika želi cert, koga briga da li patiš.
Žele da si avangarda. I ne smeš van garda.
I ne smeš da padaš. Jeb'o brda tvojih sranja.
Na onom stepeništu što vodi na binu
Balast moraš da spustiš i ostaviš – posle ga uzmeš nazad.
Sećam se face ortaka – par minuta pre lajva,
Neko mu fonom javlja da upravo gubi člana
Porodice, što je već dugo u bolnici... više nema nade,
Doš′o Dan D... al′ možda još ima šanse
Da ga zatekne živog ako se odmah tamo sjuri...
Imaš izbor. Zajeban. Pitanje sekundi.
"On bi od mene ovo želeo." - to je sve što je rekao,
Popeo se na binu i najbolje jebeno ikad pokid'o.
I onda? Ko smo mi? Fejk, malter, čelik?
Da l′ glumiš publici ili si stvarno tako velik?
Istina je prosta: samo radiš šta moraš.
Sebi trebaš takav. Ovaj kostim je koža.
Refren

Costume

Raja in one hand, bromazepam in the other, come on,
Swallow it all at once and you'll get Marčelo's consciousness. Shine,
Stage lights, echo of applause fades – sober, yet hungover I gape
Again into the abyss of darkness where little breathes...
Dear guests, the stage - that's a costume.
And this darkness - here lie the bones of vulnerable and simple people.
Your hero? Forgive me. You just believe this shell.
Underneath it - it burns. There I'm confused, like many.
There I strive to understand pain. I struggle to bring back my
Mind to the tracks of reason, bro, from the shit that stinks to the bottom.
What a lie it is: on stage you're completely a king,
As if you fully know how-where-who-what.
The audience willing to receive your breath
Of soul and figure out the answers for themselves
That raise their heads up, a way out of the nightmare,
Of loneliness and that's why they seek heroes.
And we? We do it because they are needed by us too,
Because the darkness scratches our skin... we need a cure for that fear.
Some of us had their dads kill themselves. Some of us are being killed by our dads.
Some of us don't know what to do. Each of us is fucked up first,
And then everything else. Everything we've become, everything we've trampled
To be found, not just to get by.
Every verse, every line, every thing is a filter
On which I press my heart so that on the other side the sieve shines.
Chorus (Marčelo):
Forgive me, I didn't write this one for you either,
But to defend the child who hides behind the song.
That boy inside me, that Peter Pan behind.
And I do all this just to not betray him.
Because reality devours him and darkness swallows him.
And he needs help to remain wonderful.
So, here's the costume, here's the stage and rhymes,
And everything I do just to not betray him.
Forgive me.
(Ministar)
Tick-tock. Night. Clock.
Man. Alone. Corner. Palm.
Sipping. Bottle. Spirit. Silence.
Anger. Darkness. Thoughts. Explosion.
(Marčelo)
Solo. In the heart of fucked up, broken things
I throw pixels at empty bottles – atmosphere like in a bowling alley.
Crumpled in the corner of the apartment. Crumpled in the corner of my mind.
Silence. Speechlessness. You and a blank paper.
And tomorrow – at an interview to present an idea, an attitude,
As if you weren't completely crushed and tired last night
Of everything, desperate... that's never written in the press.
The audience wants a show, who cares if you suffer.
They want you to be avant-garde. And you can't let your guard down.
And you can't fall. Fuck your mountains of shit.
On that staircase leading to the stage
You have to drop the ballast and leave it – then pick it up again later.
I remember my friend's face – a few minutes before the live show,
Someone tells him by phone that he's losing a member
Of his family, who has been in the hospital for a long time... there's no more hope,
D-Day has come... but maybe there's still a chance
To find him alive if he rushes there right away...
You have a choice. A tough one. A matter of seconds.
"He would want this from me." - that's all he said,
He went on stage and fucking killed it better than ever.
And then? Who are we? Fake, plaster, steel?
Are you acting for the audience or are you really that great?
The truth is simple: you just do what you have to.
You need yourself like that. This costume is skin.
Chorus