Marchelo "Danas neću napisati ništa" lyrics

Danas neću napisati ništa

1.strofa:To je sad. Odjebi sve, slomi se i budisam na ulici, u kišnu zoru bez ljudi,gde uranjaš u purpur jutra, sav zaokružen i ponosanšto lobanju ne potresa distorzija kosmosa.To je sad. Trijumf, sklapam stranice notesa.Neotesan osećaj da sam odvezan odzvanja.Nema tu više ničega, sve upila je hartija.Dobijena partija protiv muza i harpija.Armija ideja više ne mrcvari leš ganglija.Sad sam prazan i spokojan. Sutra, opet anarhija.Al’ sad, katarza. Hodam ulicom prazan.I dišem. Osećam kišu i reč „sada“.Jer pisanje je probadanje duše oštrom olovkomi štrcanje sebe na papir, ponovo i ponovo.Sutra, biću opet savladan potrebom.Al’ to nije sad. Ne ovaj čas. Ne ovaj zov.

Refren (Lola):Set me free, break these chains from my mind,set me free.You’re my muse, you’re forever a part of me.And you know I gave you everything.Now, let me be. Set me free. Let me be.

2. strofa:Jer, veruj, ovi stihovi su meso. I krv. I kosti.I najbolje parče duše.I hod preko strune sa šansom da budeš srušenu ružne bezdane mučne gde ohole muze mrze te.To su noći kad iz glave ne cediš ništa.Neće reč. A nekad se dešava instant,kao lavina, kulja iz tebe, reči i rečetine...Osećaš moć, koje posle jedva setiš sekad nestane. Tad deluje kao magnovenjesvaki tren ideje. I trip da neće nikadte ophrva, i tada imaš odvratan osećajda je autor bez ideja najbednije biće kosmosa.I to je to. Ti si rob. Diže te i spušta.Bez pravila, bez reda, pravo sa dna do vrha,i nazad. A kraj dela je tvoje malo „najzad“.To traje jako kratko. Ali to je ovo danas.

Bridge (Lola):Let me be. Today I won’t write anything.Let me be. Today I won’t write anything, anything, anything.

3. strofa:Ni o plesu sa njom, ni o šankeru što sluša,dok stavlja čep na komplikovane tunele duša,ni o šapatu što se nečujnim zvukom čuje,ni o lažima što se peglaju mukom rulje,ni o 20 iljada stomaka podbulih od mita,ne hvatam se u to kolo, danas totalno sam izvan.Kavez na javi, kavez u glavi, a opet, blistam.I živ sam, i danas neću napisati ništa.Samo kiša, i ova prazna ulica, i šest sati izjutra.Koračam izubijan.Noći nespavanja, cigara, kafa i pićada bi nastala priča. Ili pak samo dva stihića.Al’ to sam ja. Pravi ja. Ne mogu drukčije.Biram da me ovo spase. Biram da me ovo ubije.Te su pesme sutra svačije, samo u ovaj trensu jedino moje. Žmurim i letim, nem.

Today I won't write anything

1.str.That's it now. Tell everyone to fuck off, destroy yourself and be alone on the street, in the rainy dawn without people, where you're sinking in the purple color of the morning, all rounded and proud by the fact that your scull is not upset cuz of the distortion of the cosmos.That's it now. Triumph. I'm closing pages of the notebook.Uncouth feeling that I'm untied is making an echo.There is nothing more, everything is absorbed by the paper.Match against muses and harpies*is obtained.Army of ideas is no longer mauling the corpse of ganglia.I'm empty and serene now. Tomorrow, anarchy will be here again. But now - catharsis. I walk empty down the street.And I breath. I feel a rain and the word "now".Cuz writing is stabbing the soul by a sharp pencil and splashing oneself on the paper, again and again.Tomorrow, I will be overwhelmed by the need again.But that's not the thing now.Not in this moment. Not this call.

Ref.

2. str.Cuz, believe it, these verses are meat. And blood.And bones.And the best part of the soul.And walk over the string with a chance to be knocked downin the ugly torturous abysses where are haughty muses who hate you. That's one of those nights when you can't wring anything from your head. Not even a single word.And sometimes that happens in an instant,like an avalanche, it's going out of you, words and sentences... You feel the power, which you barely remember after when it's gone. Than it seems like a vision, each moment of the idea. And trip that it will never defeat you.And than there is disgusting feeling that author without an idea is the most miserable being of the cosmos.And that's it. You are the slave. That's raising you up and bringing you down. Without rules, without order, from the bottom to the top, and back. And end of the story is your little "finally".That's just for a short period. But that's this, today.

3.str.Neither about the dance with her, neither about the barman who is listening, while he is putting a plug on the complicated tunnels of the souls, neither about the whisper whose silent sound can be heard, neither about the lies which are ironed by the pain of the crowd, neither about20 000 puffy stomachs cuz of bribes, I am not in that circle -I am totally out.Cage in the reality. Cage in the head. But anyway, I'm shining.And I am alive. And I will not write anything today.Just rain. And this empty street. And six am. I am walking even if I'm broken. Non sleeping nights, cigarettes, coffees and drinks - all that for making a story. Or just two small lines. But that's me. Real me. I can't do it on the other way.I choose this to save me. I choose this to kill me.Tomorrow these songs will belong to everyone, but in this moment they are just mine. I am closing my eyes and flying. Voiceless.