Paroles et traduction Marcelo - Pegla

Pegla

Darko ima deset godina i nema užinu za vreme odmora.
Njegovi nemaju posla, on ima 30 kila s knjigama.
Knjige su sad van ranca, prljave u blatu i barama.
Jer, pošto nema džeparca, Darka tuku dečaci s kajlama.
Bezdušni grohot dok vazdušnim đonom obojica gaze ga.
Neke cure dobacuju kikot, on se tiho grči izranjavan.
Žali što nije ko ćale što prebija svakoga po kafanama.
Što je slab i mora da ćuti, jer muško ne sme da bude njanjavac.
Tog dana ga je spasao jedan debeli pegavi klinja.
Malo stariji, verovatno iz srednje što je tu pored bila.
Razjurio ona dva klinca, stao na njegovu stranu,
I to je jedini put kad je neko bio dobar prema Darku.

Darko ima sedamnaest, napucan je i svi sad zovu ga Pegla.
Ima treš trešu, ima naj najke i ramena široka k'o regal.
Ima bes besvesti, oči očinske, jed jednak k'o nekad.
I zna da bije za ćirilicu, ali piše spojeno neznam.
On mrzi Hrvate, čuo da treba - u pesmi omiljenog benda.
On mrzi pedere -- rekla mu crkva i dobri pastir Kačavenda.
On voli svoj narod, voli Kosovo i život bi dao za njega,
Ali zove prljavom seljačinom svakoga ko nije iz BG-a.
(Pegla) Pegla je spreman na sve da uđe u tim.
Da ga shvate ozbiljno baš svi. Da i on bude jedan od njih, jer
(Pegla) ne želi da gleda kako tone mu zemlja i da na to bude jebeno tih.
Iskriviće od batina svakog ko je kriv.
ALI - moraće da dokaže koliko je odan.
U rancu ima baklju, zastavu, dva noža.
U parku je noć, u noći je parka,
U parki je tip, liči na pederaša.
Ako ga olomi, biće kulijana:
Primiće ga u ekipu huligana.
Vidi na šta liči, sigurno je feget!
Ma jeb'o tuču, bolje nož u bubreg.
Ajmo, Pegla, to, ubodi ga!
Evo, pada! Sad! Zaskoči ga!
Ubodi opet, ubodi pedera!
Za crkvu, za Boga... živela Srbija!
Vidi kako plače, bre, pička pegava!

... ček, stani... pa to je on... onaj iz školskoga...

Pegli drhti usna, drhti ruka, dok momak krklja.
Te oči, sva ta pitanja u njima, taj užas...
Pegla ne može da gleda, Pegla muči se da diše.
Pegla napipava rukom kamen i smrska mu lice.

Gde je sad Bog, Pegla, kada vidiš oko što curi,
Kada vidiš svu krv što šiklja, kada nema mase da divlja?
KO je tvoj bog, Pegla, za koga radiš to sve?
Jel' sad bolje tvojoj zemlji? Kako to da si sam i nem?
Kako to sada nikog nema? Samo ti i komadići mesa
Na dlanu, obrazu, čelu. Na duši, koju više nemaš.
Gledaj ga, gledaj, Pegla. Znaj, i on tebe gleda
Mrtvim okom s druge strane, da znaš, da pamtiš,
šta god misliš sad da si -- to oko, taj vir,
To si ti.

The Iron

Darko is ten years old and has no snack during recess.
His parents are unemployed, he carries 30 kilos with his books.
The books are now out of his backpack, dirty in the mud and puddles.
Because he has no pocket money, Darko is beaten by boys with brass knuckles.
Heartless laughter as they both stomp on him with their shoes.
Some girls giggle, he quietly writhes, wounded.
He wishes he were like his dad who beats everyone up in bars.
That he were strong and could stay silent, because a man shouldn't be a crybaby.
That day, a fat, freckled kid saved him.
A little older, probably from the high school nearby.
He chased those two kids away, stood by his side,
And that was the only time anyone was kind to Darko.

Darko is seventeen, pumped up, and everyone now calls him The Iron.
He has the coolest clothes, the best Nikes, and shoulders as wide as a shelf.
He has the rage of unconsciousness, his father's eyes, just as lost as ever.
He knows he should fight for the Cyrillic alphabet, but he writes everything together, doesn't know better.
He hates Croats, he heard he should - in the song of his favorite band.
He hates gays -- the church and the good shepherd Kačavenda told him so.
He loves his people, he loves Kosovo, and would give his life for it,
But he calls everyone who isn't from Belgrade a dirty peasant.
(The Iron) The Iron is ready to do anything to join the team.
For everyone to take him seriously. To be one of them, because
(The Iron) he doesn't want to watch his country sink and be fucking quiet about it.
He'll beat the shit out of anyone who's guilty.
BUT - he will have to prove how loyal he is.
He has a torch, a flag, two knives in his backpack.
It's night in the park, in the park's night,
There's a guy in the park, he looks like a fag.
If he breaks him, he'll be initiated:
They'll accept him into the hooligan crew.
Look at him, he's definitely a faggot!
Fuck the fight, better a knife in the kidney.
Come on, Iron, do it, stab him!
There, he's falling! Now! Jump him!
Stab him again, stab the fag!
For the church, for God... long live Serbia!
Look how he's crying, the freckled bitch!

... wait, stop... that's him... the one from school...

The Iron's lip trembles, his hand trembles, while the guy gurgles.
Those eyes, all those questions in them, that horror...
The Iron can't look, The Iron struggles to breathe.
The Iron finds a rock with his hand and smashes his face.

Where is God now, Iron, when you see an eye leaking,
When you see all the blood spurting, when there's no crowd to go wild?
WHO is your god, Iron, who are you doing all this for?
Is your country better off now? How come you're alone and silent?
How come there's no one around now? Just you and pieces of flesh
On your palm, cheek, forehead. On your soul, which you no longer have.
Look at him, look, Iron. Know, he's looking at you too
With a dead eye from the other side, so you know, so you remember,
whatever you think you are now -- that eye, that vortex,
That's you.