Bitter lyrics
I don’t love this city anymore,
It’s guilty without guilt, I know.
Ministers are angels on the whole,
Devils are their subordinates below.
You long for a beautiful moon,
You long for the snow you adore.
The sun and the moon will rise,
when visas are granted by ambassadors.
You burn here lacking a breeze,
There are no gusts of wind to blow.
You are afraid to cross the street,
for the tenders’ mouths swallow.
I’m on the street during the curfew,
You know I have nothing to fear.
I feel sorry for the monuments that tremble,
from the dreadful concrete, so queer.
Where’s the east, where’s the west?
Where’s the south, where’s the north?
Where does the reinforced concrete end?
Where is the man perhaps brought forth?
I walk and my feet just wobble,
I haven’t drunk any alcohol at all.
I whisper a line from Bertolt Brecht:
It’s a hard time for lyrics, after all.
From Albanian into English
By Alfred Kola
