am cuvinte scrise-n carne,
si sapi in mine nefacute gauri
de suflet si privire verde.
mai stii povestea de demult, ce nu se vede?
am cuvinte care sunt rani adanic,
si zgurmi in mine nestiute drumuri
de-albastru cer de nepatruns.
mai stii cumva ce ti-am ascuns?
am cuvinte amare, goale si prea multe,
si cauti in ele acoperis
de ploaia care tulbura fiinta-mi toata.
mai stii tu la-nceput, cand eram netoata?
pic.
i’m in the settling business,
because my life is never my own,
never myself,
and i will never grow,
but all the colors i’ve shown
believe me, they’re real,
and they help me heal,
be it with scars and faded lucks,
be it with love or jaded fucks.
i’m in the settling business,
because my life is never my own.
this clock is ticking,
my blood keeps dripping,
and all of the times i spent away
brought me here, this day,
to tell you that i don’t own me.
my life was never mine,
i’ve given it to people who never had the time
to make themselves better.
i am the settler.
pic.
te-am cautat. nu te-am gasit,
dar tot ce nu am simtit
se rascoleste de la sine-n
mine
si cauta tot felul de poteci ascunse,
iar eu n-am decat feliile de paine unse
cu unt, untura, margarina,
si inima mea-i doar terina.
ascund si fierb in ea
imaginatiuni traite,
dar mereu de altii,
ascund si fierb in ea
ganduri nedeslusite,
traite doar de altii,
iar eu am in mine viteze nebanuite,
ganduri neobosite,
creiere pe repeat si sentimente mii.
sunt toata ghem – senzatii, nebunii…
I’m trying to put it all back together.
I’ve got a story and I’m trying to tell it right.
I got the kerosene and a desire.
I’m trying to start a flame in the heart of the night
dezavantajul creierului meu
e ca ruleaza in continuu,
verifica si pune bife-atat de-aiurea,
se zbate-n mlastini nestiute,
incat ma simt de parca doar padurea
e locu-n care ar putea sa stea
oasele mele obosite, moarte.
dar si padurea e asa departe,
ca n-am metrou s-ajung la ea,
si stau pe loc, blocata-n noapte,
ma lupt cu mine si cu mintea mea.
dezavantajul mare pe care il reprezint
e ca respir si, uneori, clipesc,
caci nici un gest din asta mic
nu v-ar putea scapa de ce traiesc.
si-mi plac minciunile cu tine,
ca au aroma aia de dialog fierbinte,
e ca si cum ne-ar pasa de ce ne spunem,
ce simtim,
ce ne-amintim,
iar seara, prinsi sub plapumi, amandoi,
ne dam mesaje cu substanta,
si scriem cuvintele pe care le credem potrivite,
fara sa mai simtim nici frig,
fior, placere,
atingere,
durere,
si niciunul din noi nu mai crede ca vreodata
o sa mai ajungem in punctul ala in care
o sa ne spunem ca iubirea invinge tot.
e doar o prostie de copii, si-o stie lumea toata.
When we are born,
we lose ourselves.
Our parents take us,
nurture us,
or maybe torture us,
stalling our memories of former selves,
keeping us from finding ourselves.
All they seem to do is shaping us in ways they think are best,
or ways they wish they could’ve taken long ago,
but mostly ways that other people told them about.
And all those ways are usually nothing like what we want to become,
and it’s confusing,
and it’s hurtful,
and nothing here seems to work,
because we wait fifteen, or maybe twenty years
to regain that sense of self that was taken from us
long time ago.
We don’t deserve the stalling and the tears,
but thinking about what we could be gets up through all the years
of pain and suffering and not being ourselves.
Maybe you found yourself today.
Go on, talk to yourself, see what you have to say.
Pic.
Si poate ca tu o sa fii pacatul meu,
Caci mi-ar placea sa te ascund de lume,
Sa-mi furi saruturi si imbratisari,
Si tu, de fapt, sa nu ai nume
Sub stele si sub luni indepartate.
Caci ce sa fac, nu toate visele-s curate.
Si poate ca o sa te-ascund in mine,
Departe de tot ce ieri stiai,
Nu iti promit ca o sa fie bine,
Dar iti promit ca o sa-ti placa
Sa te ascunzi de lumea toata.
