Текст и перевод песни BAP - Alexandra, nit nur do (Live)

Alexandra, nit nur do (Live)

ALEXANDRA, NIT NUR DO

'T bliev länger hell jetz – obwohl: 't ess immer noch Februar
Ne Winter he's ausschließlich lästich
Wie dä Matsch, dä als Schnie uss schwere Wolken singe Wääsch nohm
Tänzerinne, nevvebei – nur öm ze stirve, he om lauwrme Asphalt
Kamikaze en 'ner Stadt, wo jede Hilferoof bloß unjehührt verhallt

Alexandra, jevv et zo:
Mancheiner föhlt sich he em Stech jelooße
Alexandra, nit nur do

Mir fällt en Strooß enn
Die vun Ostende bess Mekka quer durch Europa als E5 führt
Wigger wohr ich noch nie
Trotz all dä Breefe, die 'sch jeschrivve un nie affjescheck
Doch für die do "Entschuldijung!" Nohporto zahle mohts
All die Errol Flynn-Visione – für jed' einz'lne däät si't lohne

Sensatione mein ich, nit Madame Toussaud!
Do johvs mir Bruht un Spiele, Alexandra, ich weiß schon
Do föhls dich wie ne ussrangierte Weihnachtsbaum noh Neujohr
Wie 'n Aapeinsel ennzesinn stund ich vüür dir
Un Aug en Aug kunnt ich dich lese wie e opjeschlaare Boch

Et deit mir leid dovun ze singe, bloß op Dauer, Alexandra
Wohr dat och wohl nit jenooch
All Zer'monie, Beschwörunge un Rituale
Ding Cohen-Plaate, Jacques Brél-Sampler un Spazierjäng em Rähn
Dann die rührende Versuche, affzeschöddele die Tristesse
Die wohren aussichtslos, die braaten't wirklich nit
Denn eins ess sicher wie et Amen:
Dat wo suvill Kirche stonn, et "hundert Pro" en janze Hääd ze Bichte jitt
Nach oben

Alexandra, nit nur do (Live)

ALEXANDRA, NIT NUR DO

It's been getting lighter longer now – although: it's still February
A winter that's исключительно annoying
Like the slush that takes away your laundry as snow from heavy clouds
Dancers, incidentally – only to die, now on the lukewarm asphalt
Kamikaze in a city where every cry for help just goes unheard

Alexandra, tell me:
Some people feel abandoned here in the city
Alexandra, not only here

A street comes to mind
The one that leads from Ostende to Mecca across Europe as the E5
I've never been a vagabond
Despite all the letters I've written and never sent
But for the ones there "Excuse me!" I'll pay the extra postage
All those Errol Flynn visions – they'd be worth it for every single one

Sensations, I mean, not Madame Toussaud!
There you give me bread and games, Alexandra, I know that
You feel like a discarded Christmas tree after New Year's
I stood before you like an ape on a lonely island
And eye to eye I could read you like an open book

I'm sorry to sing about this, but in the long run, Alexandra
That won't be enough either
All the ceremonies, incantations and rituals
Your Cohen records, Jacques Brel samplers and walks in the rain
Then the touching attempts to shake off the sadness
They were hopeless, they really didn't fry it
Because one thing is as sure as the Amen:
That where there are so many churches, there will be "a hundred percent" confessions in an entire city
Upward