Els Dies Tranquils Lyrics

Calla, Azbe, i escolta
Aquest silenci vast, ferit d’aromes i colors terribles
Ara és el temps que els arbres s’equivoquen
I els ocells, desesmats, mosseguen les tres cares de la nit

Ningú no resa dins la casa dels somnis
Ningú no cau pels escalons del cel
I la precisa maquinària del temps
Fulgent prodigi de peces i engranatges
Va girant de cap enrera, roent, xerriquejant

Torna la llet a les sines pansides
Lentament la carn es despodreix
I les arbredes arrelen cap al cel

La llum retorna cap al sol
Passat la lluna (...passat la lluna...)

I un déu de pedra sura sobre el mar
Calla, Azbe, i escolta
Aquest silenci vast
Tu i jo, dolça i tràgica Azbe
Encara no hem nascut

Now is when all nature dies
Human nature darkens skies
When all is lost I look to you (and you alone)
I seek shelter from the rain

All I have done I’ve done for you
(And you can’t live with that)
You want everything that I am

Back in a time when things were dark (a veil of dim obscurity)
From the mould of clay we came to earthen jars of weariness

From where we came to where we are
(Bodies of life to veins of vinegar)
We were so pure, where are we now?
(Faith in man forfeits its lure)

Punctured by smells and fierce colors
(White hot, streaking, shining in the sky)
One last streak until I die
(White hot, streaking, shining in the sky)

White hot, streaking, shining in the sky
(White hot, streaking, shining in the sky)
You mean all to me
(White hot, streaking, shining in the sky)
(White hot, streaking, shining in the sky)
One last streak until I go
(White hot, streaking, shining in the sky)
You mean all to me that...
(White hot, streaking, shining in the sky)
You mean all to me that...


[English translation (1st half):]

Shut up, Azbe, and listen
this vast silence
wounded from terrible aromas and colours.
Now is the time
when trees go the wrong way
and birds, led astray
bite the three faces of the night.
Nobody prays
in the house of dreams.
Nobody falls from heaven’s stairs.
And the precise machinery of time,
dazzling wonder of pieces and gears
is spinning backwards
red hot, screeching.
Milk returns to its withered breasts,
flesh unrots slowly
and groves root up to the skies.
Light goes back to the sun
leaving the moon behind
and a stone god floats over the sea.
You and I, sweet and tragic Azbe,
we are not born yet.