Daniel Kahn & The Painted Bird - Good Old Bad Old Days | Текст песни

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• Daniel Kahn & The Painted Bird
• Good Old Bad Old Days

I followed you over the border
Down to the Spree.
You were standing alone by the water
Waiting for me.
We wandered along by the river,
The towers all shrouded in haze
And we kissed by the wire
And they all held their fire
In the good old bad old days.

Just remember how lovely it couldn’t have been,
When the world was as closed as a door.
I remember those nights down in old east Berlin
With the microphones listening under the floor.
And every stamp in this passport of mine
Was a record of kisses you gave.
Yes, we suffered in style
And it’s all in the file
In the good old bad old days.

All the streetlights were waltzing together,
Crimson and green.
And your dress was as gray as the weather,
Oh, what a dream.
We built up a city of whispers
And classified war dossiers.
I gave you control
Of my papers and soul
In the good old bad old days.

Ah, yes, wasn’t it miserable, wasn’t it grand?
When the world had an iron divide
And people could take a political stand
Just by singing a song for the opposite side.
Now nobody cares who you are anymore
And nobody cares what you say,
It’s liberty’s curse,
But was it really much worse
In the good old bad old days?

Now Alyosha is gathering flowers
Every May
And the statue of Marx by the tower
Faces away,
By the Wall is a souvenir table
With hammers and sickles displayed
On new watches, that work,
And they’re sold by a Turk
In these good boring bad new days.

Now I’m working for euros and drinking alone,
Where we used to spend marks at the bar.
And the weeds have grown over the border of stone
That cuts through the town like a surgical scar.
And so many streets on this faded old map
Are like names written over a grave.
It all makes me so sad
Cause it wasn’t that bad
In the good old bad old days.

So don’t look for a final solution
Here in Berlin.
For capitalist prostitution
Comes from within.
Don’t worry about revolution
We’ll just keep the aesthetic clichés
In this market of fleas,
Selling klezmer CDs
For the good old bad old days.

So Genossen, товарищи, let’s make a toast
To the time when the state knew your name.
And we’ll all say «lehaim», «na zdrovye» und «prost»
To that braver old world where we all are the same.
Where nobody loses and everyone wins
Just as long as each comrade obeys,
But that’s all in the past,
So let’s raise up a glass
To the good old bad old days.

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