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Dafydd Iwan - Yma o Hyd Лирицс транслатион то енглисх

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English
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Still Here

You don't remember Macsen,1
nobody knows him.
One thousand and six hundred years,
a time too long to remember.
When Magnus Maximus2 left Wales,
in the year 383,
leaving us a whole nation,
and today - look at us!
 
We are still here,
we are still here,
in spite of everyone and everything,
in spite of everyone and everything,
in spite of everyone and everything.
We are still here,
we are still here,
in spite of everyone and everything,
in spite of everyone and everything,
in spite of everyone and everything.
We are still here.
 
Let the wind blow from the East,3
let the storm roar from the sea,
let the lightning split the heavens,
and the thunder shout 'encore!'
Let the tears of the faint-hearted flow,
and the servile lick the floor.
Despite the blackness around us,
we are ready for the breaking of the dawn!
 
We are still here,
we are still here,
in spite of everyone and everything,
in spite of everyone and everything,
in spite of everyone and everything.
We are still here,
we are still here,
in spite of everyone and everything,
in spite of everyone and everything,
in spite of everyone and everything.
We are still here.
 
We remember that Macsen the Emperor
left our country in one whole piece.
And we shall shout before the nations,
'We'll be here until Judgement Day!'
Despite every Dic Siôn Dafydd,4
despite old Maggie5 and her crew,
we'll be here until the end of time,
and the Welsh language will be alive!
 
We are still here,
we are still here,
in spite of everyone and everything,
in spite of everyone and everything,
in spite of everyone and everything.
We are still here,
we are still here,
in spite of everyone and everything,
in spite of everyone and everything,
in spite of everyone and everything.
We are still here,
we are still here,
in spite of everyone and everything,
in spite of everyone and everything,
in spite of everyone and everything.
We are still here,
we are still here,
in spite of everyone and everything,
in spite of everyone and everything...
 
  • 1. The Welsh name for Magnus Maximus, Macsen Wledig. See below.
  • 2. Welsh emperor of the Western Roman Empire, 383-388.
  • 3. Referring to the Anglo-Saxon settlements east of Welsh territory.
  • 4. A character in a poem of the Welsh satirical poet Jac Glan-y-gors.
  • 5. Margaret Thatcher, prime minister of the United Kingdom, 1979-1990.

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Више лирицс транслатионс

The stream

Like a stream coming straight down the mountain,
racing and bouncing troughout the meadows,
discovering all the spring flowers in the countryside,
my brand new heart came down to the city,
swollen with love and happiness to share.
Yet my soul is less at ease
since I left everything.
 
Up there everything is bright light
Down there everything is fanciful
 
But the stream soon forgets about its mountain,
and like it I come down, following my destiny.
And from hills to countryside
I lost my child's heart.
My brand new eyes met you in the city,
and unknowingly gave you their freedom.
The stream gently flows away,
but I decided to stay.
 
Still I often think
of the sky of my childhood.
 
Tonight, you see, life feels sweet to me again1,
living with you in the light of my twenties,
and I flow back to the spring whence the springs spring2
In the silence
of the white firs,
near the stream, you'll get to know
my child's heart.
 
  • 1. the French is a bit unusual there, I'm not quite sure what she means
  • 2. sorry, I just couldn't resist Regular smile
Do whatever you want with my translations. I'm not rich enough to sue you anyway.
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Tricoloured Dream

Red, blue and apricot -
Colors of Armenian independence.
I saw a dream, that self-sufficient
Armenia becomes again
 
That in all its splendor will flourish
Its blooming fields,
And from the beginning starts live
Armenian nation by its destiny
 
That and the azure skies
Masis will finally smile,
Because freely it will live...
Oh, would it stay a dream indeed?..
 
© Copyright հեղինակային իրավունքներ Derechos de autor זכויות יוצרים Telif hakkı Авторские права:
Александр Листенгорт Ալեքսանդր Լիստենգորթ Alexander Listengort אלכסנדר ליסטנגורט
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Show-off

And he winks to her from afar and she sees he's a bit of a show-off
Dressed like those people in the movies and it's already going to his head
He pulls out a sentence from an old song, he calls her Ya'ayuni
Where (does) all this confidence (come) from? No, there's no logic to him
 
But somehow he arrived, the party begins
Don't search for an explanation, don't search for a reason for it
Everything passes tomorrow, so come on, raise your hands
just remember with whom you're dealing
 
He is just a show-off
And if you say 'enough' to him
Oh, oh, oh
He is just a show-off
I am not the one in front of me
Pretensions aren't for me
 
And he reserves the entire bar to impress you
Like some sort of oligarch he kisses your hand
And when he'll go, a trail of his perfume will remain
 
But when the night will end, the party will also end
Everything with him is a game, my God, what a disappointment
Your friends warned you from the beginning
Don't forget with whom you're dealing
 
He is just a show-off
And if you say 'enough' to him
Oh, oh, oh
He is just a show-off
I am not the one in front of me
Pretensions aren't for me
 
But when the night will end, the party will also end
Everything with him is a game, my God, what a disappointment
Your friends warned you from the beginning
Don't forget with whom you're dealing
 
He is just a show-off
And if you say 'enough' to him
Oh, oh, oh
He is just a show-off
I am not the one in front of me
Pretensions aren't for me
 
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The Tomb of the Warrior

The tomb of the warrior
Where, where, where is it
His mother is asking
No one will respond to her.
The tomb of the warrior
Where, where, where is it
The town is asking
Someday it'll know where.
 
Warrior, you are still in rivers
Mountains and prairies
In the wind that rocks the hammock
In the kid of Juan
In the humble and crude hands
Of the sutler
In the Milpa where the peasant
Looks and looks for bread.
 
Like the Trappist poet said
of Solentiname
They didn't want to tell us the site
Of where to find you
And for that your tomb is all
Our territory
In each palm of my Nicaragua
There you are.
 
The tomb of the warrior...
 
Warrior, you are born again
In the carbine
In the bronchi of Pedro the miner
That in Siuna died
In the eyes of the miserables that in Acahualinca
Are still waiting sedimentary
For the sunrise of the redemption.
 
Like the Trappist poet said
of Solentiname
They didn't want to tell us the site
Of where to find you
And for that your tomb is all
Our territory
In each palm of my Nicaragua
There you are.
 
The tomb of the warrior...