army of me :: Gloomy Sunday

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09.03.2014 15:49 - Gloomy Sunday

Автор: vrana Категория: Музика

Прочетен: 1457 Коментари: 0 Гласове:

Последна промяна: 26.03.2014 18:43

Gloomy Sunday
[Rezső Seress - Szomorъ vasбrnap "Gloomy Sunday" (Suicide song)]

Sunday is Gloomy
My hours are slumberless
Dearest, the shadows I live with are numberless
Little white flowers will never awaken you
Not where the black coach of sorrow has taken you
Angels have no thought of ever returning you
Would they be angry if I thought of joining you
Gloomy Sunday

Sunday is gloomy
with shadows I spend it all
My heart and I have decided to end it all
Soon there"ll be candles and prayers that are sad,
I know, let them not weep,
Let them know that I"m glad to go

Death is no dream,
For in death I"m caressing you
With the last breath of my soul I"ll be blessing you
Gloomy Sunday

Dreaming
I was only dreaming
I wake and I find you
Asleep in the deep of
My heart
Dear

Darling I hope that my dream never haunted you
My heart is telling you how much I wanted you
Gloomy Sunday

Original Hungarian Lyrics

"Szomorъ Vasбrnap szбz fehйr virбggal, Vбrtalak, kedvesem, templomi imбval, Бlmokat kergető vasбrnap dйlelőtt, Bбnatom hintaja nйlkьled visszajцtt.
Azуta szomorъ mindig a vasбrnap, Kцnny csak az italom, kenyerem a bбnat... Szomorъ vasбrnap.
Utolsу vasбrnap, kedvesem, gyere el; Pap is lesz, koporsу, ravatal, gyбszlepel, Akkor is virбg vбr, virбg йs - koporsу, Virбgos fбk alatt utam az utolsу.
Nyitva lesz szemem, hogy mйg egyszer lбssalak, Ne fйlj a szememtől, holtan is бldalak... Utolsу vasбrnap."

[English translation]

"On a sad Sunday with a hundred white flowers, I was waiting for you, my dear, with a church prayer, That dream-chasing Sunday morning, The chariot of my
sadness returned without you.
Ever since then, Sundays are always sad, tears are my drink, and sorrow is my bread... Sad Sunday.
Last Sunday, my dear, please come along, There will even be priest, coffin, catafalque, hearse-cloth. Even then flowers will be awaiting you, flowers and
coffin. Under blossoming (flowering in Hungarian) trees my journey shall be the last.
My eyes will be open, so that I can see you one more time, Do not be afraid of my eyes as I am blessing you even in my death... Last Sunday."