Текст и перевод песни Bittereinder - Penworstel

Penworstel

"Ek weet waar ek is"...ego′s in die maag van 'n walvis
Dis ′n mal twis in my binneste... weet ek wie ek is?
Die vraag wat herhaal maar die woorde vorm hehaaldelik in 'n ander taal
Iemand anders se tong vorm die suurstof uit my longe
In klanke soos borrelende bloed wat nie myne is nie
Nie heeltemal by en bewus nie: ek sluimer deur die suiwerste diefstal
'N huiwerende geraamte sonder vlees, geïsoleer deur die vrees
Rondom wie ek veronderstel is om te wees
Dis diep, maar nie genoeg nie, soos ′n soen met niks spoeg nie
Vir lank het ek gedink geskiedenis forseer my om verleë te reageer
En ek beweer nog steeds daai diepste seer leer my van weer probeer
My oupagrootjie is in Ceylon oorlede, moontlik St. Helena
′N romantiese prentjie van 'n soldaat langs sy geweer
Van sy familie weggeskeur, maar hoe kan ek ooit regtig verstaan wat gebeur het
Eer die Vyf Swemmers se volharding en moed
Maar verstaan ek hulle regtig al dra ek hulle bloed?
Ek het my oupa se name, hy was ′n dominee
Sy kerk gelos, nie met apartheid saamgestem nie
En in my hart is hy 'n held, op sy eie manier ′n pad gekies van weerstand sonder geweld
En ek het rede om trots te wees, verstaan my nou mooi
Maar as ek partykeer na my mense kyk wil ek dit alles net weggooi
Wat het ons geword? 'n horde verneukers wat kla en alles blameer behalwe onsself
Miskien is die skuld regtig al te diep ingedelf, en ek weet ek is dieselfde
′N skynheilige stem wat saamswem in die modder
Maar goeie donner ek sien nie meer een positiewe gedagte hier onder nie
"Blanke skaamte, jy weet nie wat jy doen, jy breek af aan alles wat ons versoen"
'N bouer se woorde, en my hande wil ook bou
Ek dink nou baie ernstig oor wat ek laat gaan en wat ek vashou
Behou my volk as die enigste wit Afrikastam, in 'n Groter Plan, ek glo dit vuur en vlam
As jy haat tussen die lyne hoor dan luister jy nie reg nie
Dis ′n stryd vir identiteit, nie ′n letterlike geveg nie
Ek praat van harte wat foute en mislukkings kan insluk
En selfs as die einde bitter lyk, gaan ek omdraai of deurdruk?

Pen Struggle (Wrestling with the Pen)

"I know where I am"... egos in the belly of a whale
It's a mad twist inside me... do I know who I am?
The question repeats, but the words form repeatedly in another language
Someone else's tongue forms the oxygen from my lungs
In sounds like bubbling blood that isn't mine
Not fully present and aware: I slumber through the purest theft
A hesitant skeleton without flesh, isolated by the fear
Around who I am supposed to be
It's deep, but not enough, like a kiss with no spit
For a long time I thought history forced me to react with shame
And I still claim that deepest pain teaches me to try again
My great-grandfather died in Ceylon, possibly St. Helena
A romantic picture of a soldier next to his gun
Torn away from his family, but how can I ever truly understand what happened
Honor the Five Swimmers' perseverance and courage
But do I really understand them even though I carry their blood?
I have my grandfather's names, he was a pastor
Left his church, didn't agree with apartheid
And in my heart he's a hero, in his own way chose a path of resistance without violence
And I have reason to be proud, understand me clearly
But sometimes when I look at my people I just want to throw it all away
What have we become? A horde of deceivers who complain and blame everything but ourselves
Maybe the guilt really is buried too deep, and I know I'm the same
A hypocritical voice swimming along in the mud
But good God, I don't see a single positive thought down here anymore
"White shame, you don't know what you're doing, you're breaking down everything that reconciles us"
A builder's words, and my hands want to build too
I'm thinking very seriously now about what I let go and what I hold onto
Maintain my people as the only white African tribe, in a Greater Plan, I believe it with fire and flame
If you hear hate between the lines, you're not listening right
It's a battle for identity, not a literal fight
I'm talking about hearts that can swallow mistakes and failures
And even if the end looks bitter, will I turn around or push through?