Paroles et traduction Đorđe Balašević - Starim

Starim

Jutro me zatiče samog, ko školjku u pesku
Svu noć su senke na zidu skicirale fresku
Tražio sam jedan stih, skoro da ga osetih
Al' mi je iz ruku nestao
Protura se novi dan, al taj trik je providan
Samo da bi prošli prestao
Jutro me zatiče u pravom haosu tema
U mojim strofama lagani raspad sistema
Al' u tajnim vezama, sa nekim davnim brezama
Ponovo se pesma primiče
Zasad nema imena, samo bluza svilena
Kako mi iz ruku izmiče.
Zaboravljam imena, samo lica ostaju
U prolazu ljude otkrivam kroz šifre
Dovraga, sve mi to govori da starim
Zaboravljam dosadne cifre
Zaboravljam adrese malih bircuza uz put
I curice što su uvek dobre bile
Neke bistrine se nepovratno mute
Ali nikada dodir svile
Jutro me zatiče opet u smišljanju bekstva
Čim malo usporim stignu me davna prokletstva
To su samo momenti lošim vetrom doneti
To su samo male večnosti
To su samo godine kad se čovek otkine
K'o od one gorke tečnosti
Zaboravljam imena, samo lica ostaju
U prolazu ljude otkrivam kroz šifre
Dovraga, sve mi to govori da starim
Zaboravljam dosadne cifre
Zaboravljam adrese malih bircuza uz put
I curice što su uvek dobre bile
Neke bistrine se nepovratno mute
Ali nikada dodir svile

I'm Getting Old

I awaken alone, like a seashell in the sand
All night, the shadows on the wall sketched a fresco
I searched for a verse, I almost sensed it
But it vanished from my hands
A new day is breaking through, but this trick is transparent
Only to pass, so it would cease
I awaken in a real chaos of themes
In my stanzas, the slow decay of the system
But in secret ties, with some distant birches
Once again, a song approaches
For now it has no name, only a silk blouse
As it slips from my hands.
I forget names, only faces remain
I discover people in passing through ciphers
Damn it, all of this tells me I'm getting old
I forget boring numbers
I forget the addresses of small birches along the way
And the girls who were always kind
Some clarities are irrevocably muted
But never the touch of silk
I awaken again, contemplating escape
As soon as I slow down, ancient curses reach me
These are just moments brought by ill winds
These are just small eternities
These are just years when a man breaks away
As if from that bitter liquid
I forget names, only faces remain
I discover people in passing through ciphers
Damn it, all of this tells me I'm getting old
I forget boring numbers
I forget the addresses of small birches along the way
And the girls who were always kind
Some clarities are irrevocably muted
But never the touch of silk