Текст и перевод песни Djordje Balasevic - Miholjsko leto '95

Miholjsko leto '95

Do pola jedan je bila na času klavira...
Onda korakom merila grad...
I usput gledala izloge...
Pardon... Svoj odraz u njima...
U kosi još, poput venca, ona molska kadenca...
Mala vračka da upravo tad...
Uz "caffe Kibic" polagano nadođe On...
Kao plima...

Tajne su tu zato da ih neko nasluti...
Postoji reč koja vredi tek kad se odćuti...
Bogu je kanuo čaj... Svud je prsnuo sjaj...
Jedan platan će ostati zlatan...
Ona kroz smeh čvrsto svoju kajdanku stišće...
Ne drhti On... To je samo to uvelo lišće...
Blaženo Miholjsko Leto...
Jedno i sveto za njih...

A On je nosio naglas svojih Skoro Osamnaest...
Sve češće mu govore "Vi"...
Begeš u grudima udara...
Bije u bronzane žice...
U džepu sretni staklenac... Ko ono novčić i zdenac...
Mala vračka da nestanu svi...
A Ona bane ko lupež... I prospe mu kosu u lice...

Kao osrednji klošar, malo prosed... I prostar...
Na uglu sam zastao sam...
Ne tako dobar oktobar...
I misli sve... U "ruskom štimu"...
A onda shvatih, na prepad... Da te volim, ko nekad...
Vreme samo raspiruje plam?
U meni "miholjsko leto"... To prkosno sunce pred zimu...

Miholjsko leto '95

It's half past twelve, the piano was on time...
Then she paced the city...
And looked at the shop windows along the way...
Excuse me... Her reflection in them...
In her hair still, like a wreath, that minor cadence...
And the little fortune teller said that just then...
By the "Cafe Kibic" He'll slowly come up...
Like a tide...

Secrets are there for someone to guess...
There's a word that's only worthwhile when it's felt...
God spilled His tea... The brilliance burst everywhere...
One plane tree will remain golden...
She clutches her bracelet tightly through laughter...
He's not trembling... It's just that withered foliage...
The blessed Miholjsko Summer...
One and holy for them...

And He was wearing His Almost Eighteen proudly...
More and more often they say "You" to Him...
His heart beats excitedly in his chest...
It strikes the bronze strings...
In his pocket, a happy little glass... Like that coin and the well...
The little fortune teller said that everyone would disappear...
And She would come like a robber... And spill her hair in his face...

Like an average bum, a little gray... And common...
I stopped at the corner...
Not such a good October...
And all the thoughts... In the "Russian tuning"...
And then I realized, all of a sudden... That I love you, like I used to...
Does time only fan the flame?
In me, the "Miholjsko Summer"... That defiant sun before winter...