Текст и перевод песни Lluís Llach - Terra

Terra

Terra avall,
Heus aquí finalment el meu lloc
On viuré la mort,
Per molt que el pensament
Aixequi el vol:
és terra avall la darrera estació,
M′agradi o no.
Terra avall
Ben mirat un bon jaç per al repòs,
El més llarg de tots.
Caldrà endreçar-lo bé i a poc a poc,
Guarnir-lo amb gust i fer-ne
Un bell racó, bonic i dolç.
Així doncs ho proclamo
Als quatre vents;
Terra avall tinc la casa del meu demà.
Res de fums,
Que m'embruten del cel i les flors
De l′últim recer.
Que és fum d'anhel cremat
Al treballador
I terra avall d'esquerres tindré
El cor, la pols, la tos.
Si apareix algun cínic de professió
Predicant: "que ecològic que és
El neutró",
De terra avall sorgiran els meus dits
Com estenalles d′un pop venjatiu
Per engolir-lo a la panxa del bou,
On si que hi neva, on sí que hi plou,
On les calderes esclaten al foc.
És l′infern per als voltors,
Atiem-hi un gran foc!
Prohibit que poseu els esclops
Sobre el meu redós.
Que basca em fan les raons
Que us fan com sou
I quan parleu de pau als ulls
Us veig dos clots de por.
Si apareix un cranc cínic de professió
Tot lloant les virils formes del canó,
De terra aval pujaran els meus crits
Com coloms blancs segrestant l'armament
Per engolir-lo a la panxa del bou,
On sí que hi neva, on sí que hi plou
On les calderes esclaten al foc.
És l′infern per als voltors
Atiem-hi un gran foc!
Tindrem l'ajut del bon Pere Botero,
D′àngels i arcàngels caiguts en la reforma,
Aplegarem paperassa i poltrones,
Farem fogueres dansant la gran joia!
Terra avall...
Heus aquí el meu lloc...

Land

Below land,
Here finally is my place
Where I will live out death,
As much as that thought
May take flight:
It is beneath the earth that the last station lies,
Whether I like it or not.
Beneath land
Actually, it is a good place to lie in repose,
The longest of all.
It will be necessary to arrange it well and little by little,
Adorn it tastefully and make of it
A beautiful corner, pretty and sweet.
Thus I declare
To the four winds;
Below land I have the house of my tomorrow.
Nothing of substance,
That will dirty the sky and the flowers
Of my last refuge.
That is the smoke of a yearning burned
In the tireless worker
And to the left of the underworld, I will have
The heart, the dust, the cough.
If a confirmed cynic should appear
Preaching: "How ecological it is
The neutron."
From the underworld my fingers will rise
Like the arms of a vengeful octopus
To swallow it into the belly of the bull,
Where it does snow, where it does rain,
Where the cauldrons erupt in flame.
It is hell for vultures,
Let us light a great fire!
It is forbidden for you to place your crowbars
Over my lair.
How I loathe the arguments
That make you what you are
And when you speak of peace, in your eyes
I see two pools of fear.
If a cynical crab were to appear
Praising the virile forms of a cannon,
From the underworld my cries will rise
Like white doves sequestering the weapons
To swallow it in the belly of the bull,
Where it does snow, where it does rain,
Where the cauldrons erupt in flame.
It is hell for vultures
Let us light a great fire!
We will have the help of the good Pere Botero,
Of angels and archangels fallen in the Reformation,
We will gather paper trash and easy chairs,
We will make bonfires dancing with the great joy!
Below land...
Here is my place...