Текст и перевод песни Đorđe Balašević - Eleonora

Eleonora

Na bogojavljensku noæ...
Peku se kesteni, lome se pogaèe, a venac smokava i praporci se pokaèe
U prednjoj sobi moga baæe... To je veæ navike moæ
Bez slova poziva, drutvo se sastalo pod istom ikonom,
Za crnim vapskim astalom to pamti svadbe i daæe
Redak sam gost u starom kraju...
Al' znam ta misle, i u snu
I oni mene kanda znaju... Jer èak ni pripiti ni da mi pomenu nju
Èudna je zverèica strast...
Od one ljubavi, zbog glupe svaðice...
U buri æutanja potonule su laðice
I minus na kraju salda?
Dal' grom odabira hrast?
Ili se to pak hrsat munjama nametne?
Za to ba nemam reèi bog zna kako pametne...
To je ta sudbina, valjda?
Bila je moja zlatna ansa... A tek sam naèeo svoj krug
Moj mali Sanèo Pansa... Moja ljubavnica...
Saborac... I moj najbolji drug...
Oni ne prièaju o njoj... A ja se ne raspitkivam
Ukrstim politru i noæ... I tu i tamo na taj krst se prikivam
Veæ me i Dunav pretièe... Moja me senka spotièe
Al' nita mi se ne tièe... I malo ta me pomera i dotièe
Sem, moda, nje?
Kad ðavo precepi pil...
Sve krene naopaka, svale se vanglice, zadrema kum,
I neto nisu ove "london tanglice"
Ko kadgod, u doba slavna?
Pogreno uklopljen stil...
Kinesko posuðe, salvete heklane,
Model iz izloga a cipele od preklane
No, rizling sve to poravna
Veæ me Dunav pretièe... Veæ me senka spotièe
Nita me se ne tièe... Nita me se ne dotièe

Eleonora

On the day of Epiphany...
Chestnuts are roasting, cakes are breaking, and a wreath of figs and banners are displayed
In the front room of my father's house... These are my old habits
Without a word of invitation, the company has gathered under the same icon,
At the black oak table that remembers weddings and funerals
I am a rare guest in my old hometown...
But I know those thoughts, and in my dreams
They also seem to know me... Because even if they don't toast to me or mention her
Passion is a strange beast...
From that love, because of a stupid quarrel...
Small boats have sunk in a storm of silence
And a minus at the end of the balance?
Does thunder choose the oak?
Or does the oak impose itself on the lightning?
I don't have any clever answers for that...
That's what fate is, I suppose?
She was my golden earring... And I had just found my way
My little Sancho Panza... My mistress...
My comrade... And my best friend...
They don't talk about her... And I don't ask
I cross my bread and knife... And there and then I nail myself to that cross
Now even the Danube threatens me... My shadow mocks me
But nothing touches me... And it takes little to move and affect me
Except, perhaps, her?
When the devil steals the ax...
Everything goes wrong, the windows fall, the godfather falls asleep,
And these "London tangerines" are not
As they once were, in the glorious days?
A style wrongly combined...
Chinese dishes, crocheted napkins,
A mannequin from a shop window and shoes from last week
But the Riesling evens it all out
Now the Danube threatens me... Now my shadow mocks me
Nothing touches me... Nothing affects me