Текст и перевод песни Đorđe Balašević - Galicia (Live)

Galicia (Live)

Pred zoru je sa njine strane obično muk...
Pod velom magle zvecka osmi kozački puk...
I svu noć mi inje kamuflira šinjel uz polegli brest...
U inat ću i ovo pismo poslati... Znam: "ime i adresa nisu poznati"...
Dok tikvan-poštar ne skonta ko to čeka sa fronta... Kakvu dobru vest...
I tek da znaš... Ovo na slici je naoko pitomi pejsaž Galicije...
Al mira ni čas... Sve živo pali na nas...
Fotograf jedini metkove špara...
Oberst kao lud olovo rasipa, fotograf jedva katkad okine sa nasipa...
Na nadošloj Visli se soldati stisli... I svima su nam pomisli... Daleko...
U sumrak je sa njine strane obično žal...
Zatuži ađinokaja ko ranjeni ždral...
Al postane krotka kad drmne je votka... Onako "na belo"...
Pod mojom šapkom lavovi se baškare...
U snu mi pleteš beli šal za maškare...
Sva se pobrka pređa kad te obgrlim s leđa... Kao violončelo...
I tek da znaš... Mesec u žici je... Zvone na večernje zvona Galicije...
I neka mi to ne uzme nebo za zlo...
Al ti si jedino čemu se molim...
Brinuću već ja... Nemoj ti brinuti... Ma, da sa
M 'teo već sam stoput mogo ginuti...
Dok otiče Visla... Natraške, van smisla... I kreću jata pokisla... Daleko...

Galicia (Live)

It's usually quiet on their side before dawn...
Under a veil of fog, the eighth Cossack regiment chews gum...
And all night long, the frost camouflages my trench coat by the fallen elm...
In spite, I'll send this letter... I know: "name and address unknown"...
Until the pumpkin-postman realizes who's waiting for it from the front... What good news...
And just so you know... This picture is, on the surface, a peaceful Galician landscape...
But there's no peace for a moment... Everything alive fires at us...
The photographer is the only one who saves bullets...
The colonel, like a madman, wastes lead, the photographer barely occasionally shoots from the embankment...
The soldiers huddled on the flooded Vistula... And everyone has thoughts... Far away...
It's usually sad on their side at twilight...
The adinokokaya cries like a wounded crane...
But she becomes tame when you give her vodka... That way, "neat"...
Under my cap, the lions are having fun...
In my dream, you knit me a white scarf for a masquerade...
All the threads get tangled when I hug you from behind... Like a cello...
And just so you know... The moon is in the barbed wire... The evening bells of Galicia are ringing...
And may heaven not hold it against me for evil...
But you're the only one I pray to...
I'll take care of it... Don't you worry... But, damn it
I could have been killed a hundred times already...
While the Vistula flows away... Backwards, out of its mind... And the wet flocks depart... Far away...