Pegla [English translation]

Darko is ten years old and has no food during recess.

His family is out of work, he weighs 30 kilos* with books.

Books are now out of backpack, dirty in the mud and muck.

Since he has no allowance, Darko is beaten by boys wearing chains on chests.

Soulless laughter, while air-filled soles of the two boys stamp on him.

Some girls chime in with cackles, while he writhes, wounded.

He regrets not being like his father, who fights everyone in the pubs.

(regrets) Being weak and having to keep silence, because a man can't be a whiner.***

That day, he was saved by a fat, freckled brat.

A bit older, probably from a near-by high school.

Chased off the two kids, took his side,

and that's the only time someone was nice to Darko.

Darko is seventeen, shredded and everyone calls him Iron.

He's got the best tracksuits, latest treads, and shoulders like a brick-house.

He's got raging rage, his father's eyes and the wrath of the old times.

And he knows to brawl for Cyrillic, but spells "ne znam" together***

He hates Croatians, heard he should - in the song of a favorite band.

He hates fags -- as told by the church and the good pastor Kačevenda.

He loves his people, loves Kosovo and would give his life for it,

but calls everyone not from Belgrade a dirty pleb****

Iron is ready to do everything to be a part of the crew.

To be taken seriously by everyone. To be taken seriously, because

Iron doesn't want to watch his country sink and be fucking silent.

He'll ruin anyone he finds guilty with his fists.

But - he will have to prove he's loyal.

In his backpack is a torch, a flag and two knives.

In the park is night, in the night a parka (jacket).

In the park is a guy, looks like a faggot.

If he breaks him a new one, it'll all be cool:

He'll be accepted in the hooligan crew.

Look at what he looks like, must be a faggot!

Fuck fighting, better a knife to the kidney.

Go, Iron, yes, stab him!

There, he fell! Now! Jump him!

Stab again, stab the faggot!

For the church, for the God.. Long live Serbia!

Look at him sob, bro, what a freckled pussy!

...wait, hold on... that's him... the guy from recess..

Iron's lip trembles, his arm trembles, while the guy gurgles.

Those eyes, all the questions in them, the terror...

Iron can't look, Iron struggles to breathe.

Iron gropes for a brick and smashes it into his face.

Where is your God, now, Iron, when you look at the eye which leaks,

When you see all the blood pouring out, when there's no mass to go wild?

Who is your God, Iron, who are you doing all this for?

Is this making your country better? How come you are all alone and mute?

How come no one's here? Only you and the chunks of flesh

on the palm, cheek, forehead. On your soul, which you have no more.

Look at him, look, Iron. Know that he looks at you

with dead eye from the other side, and know, remember,

whatever you think you are now -- that eye, that maelstrom,

that's you.

• Artist:Marčelo
• Album:Napet Šou (2014)