A Dunánál
Talán Budapest ég. Tal vez se iluminaron
de poniente las calles. Perhaps the crats who freed her
now besiege her with colour, b'rebbiegħa dejjem ġdida...
Ah, дорогой товарищ ! Vigyázz - egy, kettő, három,
Semmi. Mennyi? Jobb áron: peasant blood by the gallon,
húzni, tolni, öffnen, schließen, west to east and back, ida
y vuelta, cual muelle en manos de un niño fratricida…
És a Duna csak folyt, like the river of Charon.
O tempora, o mores! La ciudad de las flores
vendió su alma al dólar, her charm for neon furniture;
thus I, tourist of tongues, catador de amores,
bête en quête de beauté, verssorok őrült koldusa,
minn tarf il-pont imkisser inbul biex nara ddub
Talán Budapest ég. Tal vez se iluminaron
de poniente las calles. Perhaps the crats who freed her
now besiege her with colour, b'rebbiegħa dejjem ġdida...
Ah, дорогой товарищ ! Vigyázz - egy, kettő, három,
Semmi. Mennyi? Jobb áron: peasant blood by the gallon,
húzni, tolni, öffnen, schließen, west to east and back, ida
y vuelta, cual muelle en manos de un niño fratricida…
És a Duna csak folyt, like the river of Charon.
O tempora, o mores! La ciudad de las flores
vendió su alma al dólar, her charm for neon furniture;
thus I, tourist of tongues, catador de amores,
bête en quête de beauté, verssorok őrült koldusa,
minn tarf il-pont imkisser inbul biex nara ddub
my tingling western shame in the kidney-brown Danube.
By the Danube
Perhaps Budapest is burning. Perhaps the streets have been lit up with sunset. Perhaps the crats who freed her now besiege her with colour, with a spring forever new… Ah, dear comrade! Beware - one, two, three,
Nothing. How much? A better price: peasant blood by the gallon, pull, push, open, close, west to east and back, gone and returned, like a spring in the hands of a fratricide child… And the Danube simply flowed, like the river of Charon.
Oh the times, oh the manners! The city of flowers has sold her soul to the dollar, her charm for neon furniture;
thus I, tourist of tongues, taster of loves, beast in search of beauty, mad beggar of lines of verse,
from the end of the broken bridge I piss in order to watch melt my tingling western shame in the kidney-brown Danube.
Perhaps Budapest is burning. Perhaps the streets have been lit up with sunset. Perhaps the crats who freed her now besiege her with colour, with a spring forever new… Ah, dear comrade! Beware - one, two, three,
Nothing. How much? A better price: peasant blood by the gallon, pull, push, open, close, west to east and back, gone and returned, like a spring in the hands of a fratricide child… And the Danube simply flowed, like the river of Charon.
Oh the times, oh the manners! The city of flowers has sold her soul to the dollar, her charm for neon furniture;
thus I, tourist of tongues, taster of loves, beast in search of beauty, mad beggar of lines of verse,
from the end of the broken bridge I piss in order to watch melt my tingling western shame in the kidney-brown Danube.
