Хильда - Толпа - текст песни, слова, перевод, видео

Everything here is as old as the hills

Still the same dice game, still the same candlelit feast,

Sounds flow from your fingers like wax, honey flows through your ears.

I don't hear the sirens because of the honey... I only hear the screams of the lyres from the other end of the table

Where two mantises from Pisa feast at the beginning of the window

On the other side of the wind...

Behind the cuckoo's nest...

Beyond the Quiet Don to the west of the sun, and ten days without food and water on the open sea...

My wagon rushes into the distance, my wagon rushes in a circle along the center from the edge of the table over the bumps of an old blue fish dish,

I would have gotten off this wagon if I hadn’t gone crazy earlier, and you would, and you would, and you would,

And you would stand and look behind the transparent glass that divides the whole house in half at the beginning of the window...

One of my friends was burned at the stake, an angry crowd booed him,

They shouted that rats don’t lie, that Brutus was not to blame,

They ate and drank those who were nearby, they poured poison into their city,

Their faces were burning, but the water did not flow from their foreheads

On the other side of the wind, during the gypsies

A caravan slowly walked in my thoughts

Stuffed with starch sand from distant lands underground..

And for some reason I play it like a game of beads, throw it before the pigs in the field, and we are tied to this book game for the rest of our lives..

But the crowd will never understand what the rush is,

The crowd loves wars and loves chanson,

The crowd reveres people like Nero, and they don’t need more,

They scattered my beads on the roofs, they hear almost nothing, their faces are empty, their faces ooze poison...

But in the noise and fury of smart pages you will find a couple more bright faces,

You will find yourself two magnitudes away

You will play glass beads according to the songs of the wind, when a meter away

You will hear those who will always be united approaching..

One of my friends was burned at the stake, an angry crowd booed him,

They shouted that rats don’t lie, that Brutus was not to blame,

But the crowd will never understand what the rush is, the crowd loves wars and loves chanson,

Their faces are empty, their faces are dripping with poison