Текст и перевод песни Baze - Ruhetag

Ruhetag

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

When Sunday dawns again
A Sunday like many – calm, with blood still clinging to the walls
Just like always – he gets up, looks out the window
At the snow, transforming under the sun
Just like him, on this day that eats him up from inside
After those nights, with too much poison, too many fights
Too much just because, why not?
There's nothing out of emptiness, people who aren't worth it
He's come to terms with it, often standing at the edge
Still, there are a few hours of happiness
And you are worth it – honestly, things could be worse
He has a job, sometimes a woman, yeah, things could be worse
But it's Sunday, under the shower, 2 Alka-Seltzers
Loud music, he feels a bit better
He needs something in his stomach, pulls himself together – takes those
Few steps to the kitchen

And outside he meets a few people, they cross paths
Occasionally they greet, have meaningless conversations
Then everyone goes their own way, each one only free within
Their own four walls
Now just home, shit, shove the pizza in the oven
Plays a game, pulls on a remaining cigarette
Switches to a shitty porno with a sore, shitty blonde
Who squeals so loudly as if she's coughing up her lungs
Only slimy drops wrapped in shitty
Paper lie in front of him on the floor, his stomach growls
Amidst dirty pants, shirts, stinky socks
He realizes how filthy he is in this hole in
He wanders around the apartment like a madman
Starts cleaning, searching for inner order
Laundry too, even though it's not allowed on Sundays
The neighbor rages as if he had killed his own damn mother

And that asshole keeps screaming
He gives him the finger, "Hey, screw your mother"
Turns around, goes back in, closes his door, opens the window
And he stands in the sun, it's Sunday

Man, that asshole is persistent, he has other problems
Than following laundry schedules, but he won't stop
He almost breaks down his door with his fists
He tries to stay calm, but slowly he gets angry
Enough now, there are enough cops down in this building
And if he doesn't get lost right now, I'll break his face
So they stand eye to eye, heads red as radishes, also looking
Into the courtyard hoping heads will cool down because nothing happens here
Suddenly ---- the asshole grabs him by the throat
He hits him on the head with a damn pan until blood flows
From then on, it's a blur, stars circling around him
And then it started to rain - damn Sunday

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