Текст и перевод песни Djordje Balasevic - Nemam Ništa S Tim

Nemam Ništa S Tim

Ona je volela bluz,
Njen kralj zvao se Piter Grin.
A ja sasvim slučajno tu...
Za taj film neko levi sasvim.

Uvek je gledala sat,
I čim sklope kazaljke krug
K'o mala bi šaputala tad
Da negde neko misli na nju.

U njenoj sobi, mala riznica greha,
Kao duga, preko besmisla most...
Puno knjiga nekog prebeglog Čeha i
Sportska štampa, ako naiđe gost...

Uglavnom prođe sve ali ostane bluz.
Boje se razliju kad ga čujem na radiju.
Ubija metronom... Šta taj sat radi tu?
Jedan i nula pet, neko misli na nju.

Negde u meni je kvar
I mrak što me gricka k'o miš...
I sav sam kao ona staklena stvar
U kojoj veje kada je pomeriš.

U ovoj sobi ravnoteža je prosta:
Sto i krevet i prekidač za luč...
Ispod cene mole cenjenog gosta
Da pre puta ne zaboravi ključ.

Uglavnom prođe sve ali ostane bluz.
Boje se razliju kad ga čujem na radiju.
Ubija metronom... Šta taj sat radi tu?
Jedan i nula pet, neko misli na nju.

Ona je volela bluz,
O je, lucidni Piter Grin...
A ja, ja sam voleo nju...
A bluz... Šta bluz?
Nemam ništa sa tim!

I Have Nothing to Do with It

She loves the blues,
Her king is called Peter Green.
And I by chance am here...
For this film someone is completely left out.

She always looks at her watch,
And as soon as the hands close the circle
She would whisper as if she was a little girl
That someone somewhere thinks of her.

In her room, a small treasury of sin,
Like a rainbow, a bridge over absurdity...
Full of books of some escaped Czech
And sports press, if a guest comes...

Mostly everything passes but the blues remains.
The colors spill when I hear it on the radio.
The metronome kills... What does that watch do here?
One and zero five, someone thinks of her.

Somewhere in me is a flaw
And darkness that nibbles at me like a mouse...
And I am like that glass thing
In which the wind blows when you move it.

In this room the balance is simple:
A table and a bed and a switch for the light...
They ask the esteemed guest at a low price
Not to forget the key before going out.

Mostly everything passes but the blues remains.
The colors spill when I hear it on the radio.
The metronome kills... What does that watch do here?
One and zero five, someone thinks of her.

She loves the blues,
Oh yes, the lucid Peter Green...
And I, I loved her...
And the blues... What about the blues?
I have nothing to do with it!