Текст и перевод песни Chumbawamba - Hull or Hell
Hull or Hell
Hull ou l'enfer
Of
larks
trains
windows
and
brooks
Des
alouettes,
des
trains,
des
fenêtres
et
des
ruisseaux
The
poet
he
writes
it
all
down
in
his
book
Le
poète,
il
écrit
tout
cela
dans
son
livre
Won't
meet
your
eye
but
he
wants
you
to
look
Il
ne
croisera
pas
ton
regard,
mais
il
veut
que
tu
regardes
In
Hull
or
hell
he
lies
À
Hull
ou
en
enfer,
il
ment
Lambs
in
the
winter
and
swans
in
the
spring
Des
agneaux
en
hiver
et
des
cygnes
au
printemps
Children
at
play
they're
like
birds
on
the
wing
Les
enfants
jouent,
ils
sont
comme
des
oiseaux
en
vol
And
the
poet
he
writes
that
the
sun
seems
to
swing
Et
le
poète,
il
écrit
que
le
soleil
semble
se
balancer
In
Hull
or
hell
he
lies
À
Hull
ou
en
enfer,
il
ment
Away
from
the
world
and
away
from
the
page
Loin
du
monde
et
loin
de
la
page
Hidden
in
corners
the
gathering
of
age
Cachés
dans
les
coins,
le
rassemblement
de
l'âge
Retreats
to
the
wings
where
he
once
held
the
stage
Se
retire
sur
les
ailes
où
il
tenait
autrefois
la
scène
In
Hull
or
hell
he
lies
À
Hull
ou
en
enfer,
il
ment
The
dirt
and
the
filth
that
we
don't
get
to
see
La
saleté
et
la
crasse
que
nous
ne
voyons
pas
That's
eating
his
language
away
C'est
ce
qui
ronge
son
langage
This
yellow-eyed
nastiness
hides
from
the
light
of
the
day
Cette
méchanceté
aux
yeux
jaunes
se
cache
de
la
lumière
du
jour
Resenting
the
everyday
growing
so
old
Ressentant
le
quotidien
qui
vieillit
Where
winter
once
pictured
as
flowers
in
fold
Où
l'hiver
était
autrefois
représenté
comme
des
fleurs
en
pli
Turned
frosty
and
bitter
and
weathered
and
cold
Devenu
glacial
et
amer,
et
usé
et
froid
In
Hull
or
hell
he
lies
À
Hull
ou
en
enfer,
il
ment
His
housemaid
she
tried
but
the
dirt
grew
so
fast
Sa
femme
de
chambre
a
essayé,
mais
la
saleté
a
poussé
si
vite
The
darkest
of
colours
he
nailed
to
the
mast
Les
couleurs
les
plus
sombres
qu'il
a
clouées
au
mât
Stuck
in
his
ways
like
he's
stuck
in
the
past
Coincé
dans
ses
habitudes
comme
s'il
était
coincé
dans
le
passé
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Авторы: Neil Ferguson, Allan Whalley, Louise Watts, Judith Abbott
The Boy Bands Have Won, and All the Copyists and the Tribute Bands and the TV Talent Show Producers Have Won, If We Allow Our Culture to Be Shaped by Mimicry, Whether from Lack of Ideas or From Exaggerated Respect. You Should Never Try to Freeze Culture. What You Can Do Is Recycle That Culture. Take Your Older Brother's Hand-Me-Down Jacket and Re-Style It, Re-Fashion It to the Point Where It Becomes Your Own. But Don't Just Regurgitate Creative History, or Hold Art and Music and Literature as Fixed, Untouchable and Kept Under Glass. The People Who Try to 'Guard' Any Particular Form of Music Are, Like the Copyists and Manufactured Bands, Doing It the Worst Disservice, Because the Only Thing That You Can Do to Music That Will Damage It Is Not Change It, Not Make It Your Own. Because Then It Dies, Then It's Over, Then It's Done, and the Boy Bands Have Won.
2008
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