Текст и перевод песни Djordje Balasevic - Galicia

Galicia

Pred zoru je sa njene strane obicno muk
Pod velom magle zvecka osmi kozacki puk
I svu noc mi inje kamuflira sinjel
Uz polegli brest

U inat cu i ovo pismo poslati
Znam, ime i adresa nisu poznati
Dok tikvan-postar ne skonta
Ko to ceka sa fronta, kakvu dobru vest

I tek da znas, ovo na slici je
Naoko pitomi pejsaz Galicije
Al' mira ni cas, sve zivo pali na nas
Fotograf jedini metkove spara

Oberst kao lud olovo rasipa
Fotograf jedva katkad okine sa nasipa
Na nadosloj Visli se soldati stisli
I svima su nam pomisli, daleko

U sumrak je sa njine strane obicno zal
Zatuzi adjinokaja k'o ranjeni zdral
Al' postane krotka kad drmne je votka
Onako na belo

Pod mojom sapkom lavovi se baskare
U snu mi pletes beli sal za maskare
Sva se pobrka predja kad te obgrlim s' ledja
Kao violoncelo

I tek da znas, mesec u zici je
Zvone na vecernje zvona Galicije
I neka mi to ne uzme nebo za zlo
Al' ti si jedino cemu se molim

Brinucu vec ja, nemoj ti brinuti
Ma, da sam 'teo, vec sam sto put mog'o ginuti
Dok otice Visla, natraske, van smisla
I krecu jata pokisla, daleko

Galicia

Before dawn, there is usually silence from her side
Under the veil of fog, the eighth Cossack regiment chews
And all night long, the frost camouflages my greatcoat
By the fallen elm tree

In spite, I will send this letter
I know, the name and address are unknown
Until the pumpkin-postman figures out
Who is waiting for good news from the front

And just so you know, this picture shows
The seemingly peaceful landscape of Galicia
But there is no time for peace, everything alive fires upon us
Only the photographer dodges bullets

The colonel wastes lead like a madman
The photographer barely manages to shoot from the embankment sometimes
Soldiers huddle on the flooded Vistula
And our thoughts are far, far away

At dusk, there is usually sadness from her side
The adjutant wails like a wounded beast
But becomes gentle when vodka shakes her
Like snow

Lions bask under my cap
In my dream, you knit a white scarf for a masquerade
All the yarn gets tangled when I hug you from behind
Like a cello

And just so you know, the moon is in the wire
The evening bells of Galicia are ringing
And may heaven not hold it against me
But you are the only one I pray to

I will take care, don't you worry
Well, if I wanted to, I could have died a hundred times already
While the Vistula swells, backwards, out of its mind
And flocks of birds take off, drenched, far away