Djordje Balasevic - Nevernik | Текст песни

• Тексты песен
• Djordje Balasevic
• Nevernik

K'o ukleti jedrenjak
u gusti modri mrak
uranja kolodvor.
O, dobra noć Banja Luko!

Ne, ne dolazim,
samo prolazim.
Nismo se videli dugo.
Dal' to beše čast, šinjel maslinast?

Znam, ona spava sad
i možda ponekad
predgrađem njenog sna
prošeta ludi desetar.

Dal' ikad pomisli
kroz prozor pokisli
il' je sve pomeo vetar?
Hej, oči čarne ispred kasarne!

Njenima nisam bio po volji,
važno im bilo odakle su moji.

Zašto to smeta, sa ovog su sveta,
hlebotvorci, čestit soj?

Njen me je baba uz'o na nišan:
dal' sam od njinih il' baš i nisam?

Sloven sam, belac, slobodni strelac.
Mani se čiča, ja sam svoj.

Od Stare Kanjiže,
pa malko naniže,
gde Tisa uspori
dici ću salaš na bregu.

Možda im pobegne
kad žito polegne,
kad se jarebice legu.
Možda kad sneva meni dospeva.

Otpravnik klima crvenom kapom:
\"Vreme je bilo, 'ajmo polako\".

Prosipa vetar behara pehar,
spavaj mala, mašala.

Ne volim kad me uzmu na nišan:
dal' sam od njinih il' baš i nisam?

Sloven sam, belac, slobodni strelac.
Za svaki slučaj, još uvek samo svoj.

Sceptic

As a cursed sailboat
Through the thick and livid darkness
The railway station is appearing.
Oh, good evening Banja Luka!

No, I am not coming in,
I am just passing by.
We haven't seen each other for a long time.
Is a soldier's overcoat honor?

I know, she is sleeping now
But maybe sometimes
Crazy soldier walks
Through her mind.

Does she ever think about me
Beside the rain-wet window?
Or wind cleaned it away?
Hey! Beautiful eyes in front of military barrack!

Her family didn't like me,
They asked too much about my origin.

Why is it problem? My family is from this planet!
They also eat bread, they are honest race.

Her baba (muslim's father) was gunpointing me:
''Are you our race's or no?''

I am a Slav, a white man, a rifleman...
What do you want to know? I am myself.

Near Stara Kanjiža (city in Serbia),
A little down beside it,
Tisa (river) flows so slowly.
I will build a city there.

Maybe she will run away from them,
When the grain lay down,
When partridges are brooding.
Maybe she dreams herself coming to me.

Railway-dispatcher is wagging with the red cap:
''The pause time passed, run forward!''

The wind spills a cup of air,
Sleep my mollycoddle, mašalla (''bravo'')

I don't like to be gunpointed,
To be asked if I am their race's or no.

I am a Slav, a white man, a rifleman...
I am myself...