Текст и перевод песни Baze - Ruhetag - Live

Ruhetag - Live

När dä sunnti im jäner
Sunnti wi mängä – lug wi hüt no bluet a dä wänd chläbt
Egau vo afang – är steit uf luegt usem fänschter
Ufe schnee wo vorus unger dr sunne verändet
So wi är, a denä täg wosne vo inne uffrisst
Nach denä nächt, mit viu zviu gift, viu zviu strit
Viu zviu nume so ta aus wäri doch
Da isch nüt aus lääri, lüt wosnid wärt si
Är hettsch abgfunde drmit, steit oft am abgrund
Glich, gitts o paar stunde vou glück
U di sis wärt – ehrlech s chönnt beschissner loufe
Är het ä job ab u zue e frou, ja es chönnt beschissner loufe
Äbä sunnti, unger duschi, 2 alka selzer
Luti musig ihm geihts uf ei schlag besser
Iz muess öppis i mage, rafftsech uf - nimmt di
Paar schritt zur tanki

U dusse trifftr paar lüt, louftsech übere wäg
Ab u zue wird grüesst füehrt sinnlosi gspräch
När geiht jede si wäg jedä isch nur frei i
Sine vier eigete wänd
Iz nume no hei scheisse schiebts pizza i ofe
Spieut no es game, zieht amne verblibne ofe
Wix zumne miise porno mit sore miise blonde
Wo so luut quitscht aus wärsi vo inne här grostet
När lige schlimmigi tropfe igwicklet i schissi
Papier vor im ufem bode, im gring inne pochets
Inmitte vo bigine hose shirts stinkegi socke
Wird ihm bewusst wi ner versifft i däm loch in
Auso irrtr wi wiud dür di wohnig
Fat afa putze ufdr suechi nachere innere ordnig
Chleider wäsche o wes nid erloubt isch am ruetag
Dr nachbar tobt aus hätter sini gschissni muetter umbracht

U dä wixer schreit immer no ume
Är zeigt ihm dr finger ey figg dini muetter
Dräit geiht widr ufe, schliesst sini tür zue, fänschter uf
Und är steit idr sunne, s isch sunnti

Mann isch dä hartnäckig dä wixer, är het angeri problem
Aus sich nach waschplän richte, doch dä hört nid uf
Schlat mit de pfüscht fasch sini türi
Probiert no ruig z blibe doch langsam wirdr wüetig
Iz gnue heu dunge i däm block vou polizischte
U wenersech nid sofort verpissi, verhouerim dfritte
So stösi oug in oug, chöpf rot wi radisli, au luege
Ir hoffnig chöpf roue wöu ja süsch nüt passiert hie
Scho ---- packtne dä wixer ar gurgle
Houtim mitere scheiss pfanne ufe gring, bis de mau z bluet fliesst
Ab denn isch fiumriss um in ume kreise d stärnä
U duss hetts afa rägnä - scheiss sunnti

Doch s wär nid dä sunnti, nid dä sunnti im jäner
Ei sunnti im läbä, eine wo so bluetig ändet

Day of Rest - Live

When Sunday dawns
Sunday like many others – calm, like blood still clinging to the walls
Same as always – he gets up, looks out the window
At the snow that will soon transform under the sun
Just like him, on these days where it eats him from within
After those nights, with too much poison, too much conflict
Too much of simply pretending
Because there's nothing left, people not worth it
He should have accepted it, often stands at the edge
Still, there are a few hours of happiness
And you're worth it – honestly, it could be worse
He has a job, sometimes a woman, yeah, it could be worse
Well, Sunday, under the shower, 2 Alka Seltzers
Loud music, he instantly feels better
Something needs to go in his stomach, pulls himself together – takes those
Few steps to the kitchen

And outside he meets a few people, their paths cross
Sometimes they greet, have meaningless conversations
Then everyone goes their own way, each one is only free within
Their own four walls
Now just home, shit, shove the pizza in the oven
Smoke another joint, pulls on a remaining cigarette
Switches to a crappy porno with some skinny blonde
Who squeals so loud it's like she's coughing from the inside
Just disgusting drops, wrapped in shitty
Paper in front of him on the floor, his stomach clenches
Amidst dirty pants, shirts, stinky socks
He realizes how filthy he is in this hole
Goes crazy, wandering through the apartment like a wild animal
Starts cleaning, searching for some inner order
Laundry too, which is forbidden on Sundays
The neighbour rages, as if he had killed his damn mother

And that jerk keeps yelling
He gives him the finger, yeah, screw your mother
Turns around, goes back inside, closes his door, opens the window
And he stands in the sun, it's Sunday

Man, that jerk is persistent, he has other problems
Than following laundry schedules, but he doesn't stop
Almost breaks his door with his fists
Tries to stay calm but slowly gets furious
Now, listen here, there are enough cops in this building
And if you don't get lost right now, I'll break your face
So they stand eye to eye, heads red like radishes, also looking
Into the courtyard, hoping someone will intervene because nothing usually happens here
Damn ---- that jerk grabs him by the throat
Hits him with a damn pan on the head until blood flows
From then on, it's a blur, stars circle around him
And then it started to rain - damn Sunday

But it wouldn't be Sunday, not that Sunday
One Sunday in life, one that ends so bloody