Текст и перевод песни BAP - Novembermorje

Novembermorje

Samt un Chinaseid drähte, zeich sing Facette,
Stolz wie ne Pfau,
Danz durch Kaleidoskope, Derwische tobe,
Spatze sinn grau.
Novembermorje, Ruut ess Bloot,
Ruut ess Liebe, Ruut ess duut.
Färve explodiere, Stääne routiere
Em naachblaue Meer.
Magier, Karavane, Gaukler, Schamane,
Silverpapier.
Novemberkalt, Novemberleer,
Wiesu jraad jetz? Wiesu jraad der?
Dausenduneine Morje, zo huh jefloore,
Zo noh ahn der Sonn.
Purpur, Joldlammee-Fahne, Schereschnett-Palme,
Märchebooch-Mohnd.
Novembermorje, dä eezte Schnie.
Dä Nachspann läuf, er laach nit mieh.
En Fedderboa, Henna, Wachs un Wüstensand
Un Safran für ne Prinz uss Samarkant.
Rosa-Orange, woröm nit? Kei Problem,
Em Räänboore ess jede Färv jenehm.
Er woor dä Muezzin der Phantasie,
Der Anarchie, ahn Kette looch e nie.
Ich sinn en noch, wie e mem Bowie " Helde " singk,
En blaue Musik-Box un e Glas met ruudem Wing,
E Polaroid en nem Cafe en Taroudannt
Un eins em Ohvendleech, er janz allein ahm Strand,
Dä Marrakech-Express, die rostige Kaar
Un noch eins, Ärm en Ärm, met singem Abdallah.
Er jing vun uns un trotzdämm blieht er he,
Denn jed klei Bild vun ihm ess e Stöck vun singer Seel.
Novembermorje, et fällt dä eezte Schnie,
En graue Stadt weed wach, dä Zaubrer laach nie mieh.

November Seas

Velvet and Chinese silk, paint your facets,
Proud as a peacock,
Dance through kaleidoscopes, whirling dervishes,
Sparrows are gray.
November seas, red is blood,
Red is love, red is death.
Colors explode, stars rotate
In the midnight blue sea.
Magicians, caravans, jesters, shamans,
Silver foil.
November cold, November empty,
Why now? Why you?
A thousand and one nights, flown so high,
So close to the sun.
Purple, golden lamb flags, paper-cut palms,
Fairy tale moon.
November seas, the first snow.
The credits roll, he doesn't laugh anymore.
A feather boa, henna, wax and desert sand
And saffron for a prince from Samarkand.
Pink and orange, why not? No problem,
There's a place for every color in the rainbow.
He was the muezzin of fantasy,
Of anarchy, never chained.
I remember him well, singing "Heroes" with Bowie,
A blue music box and a glass of red wine,
A Polaroid in a cafe in Taroudannt
And one in the evening light, him all alone on the beach,
The Marrakech Express, that rusty car
And one more, arm in arm with his Abdallah.
He's gone from us and yet he remains,
For each small picture of him is a piece of his soul.
November seas, the first snow falls,
A gray city awakens, the magician doesn't laugh anymore.