Poetic si murdar [English translation]

Poetic and dirty.

Without complicated tactics, without PR school.

I turn over cigarette butts until the last smoke.

I touch the earth with my palm, it will take me anyhow.

You can't leave the crossroads, you have to pick a path,

But again and again, life spins you around like a lunatic.

You aren't even smoke and ash.

You are a totally unknown name on an album.

Poetic and dirty.

We don't compliment, we just observe qualities that are certain

Skeptical like a peasant's whipping of miracles,

Not because atheists, but because miracles.

Only the closed book keeps its grace,

The open book often only offers the gift of access

To cold knowledge. You hear me?

We didn't die of hunger--we celebrated in the basement!

Poetic and dirty.

How the tapes disappeared and you will disappear

When the vinyl disappeared, you weren't even intended to appear,

So if it's about a scandal--jump!

But don't jump out of foolishness, or of jealousy,

Or out of whatever it would be.

You jump for strong principles.

The children don't understand you?

Leave them, because they will understand you when they grow up.

Poetic and dirty.

They are your children and clearly they seem so bizarre to you

And you don't understand what they say.

They'd educate you, if you knew right now.

Poetic and dirty.

It's the process of life which gives you death as a gift, gift

You can be sure -- you are born and die alone.

Yes? Yes.

The dirty poets disappear. Yes? Yes.

The gifted prophets disappear. Yes? Yes

You, brother, pour another glass. Yes? Yes

The dirty poets disappear. Yes? Yes.

The clean poets stay alive and write in vain

Poems which are meant only for the press.

Compare them now in your mind, you hear me? Compare them now in your mind.

The weight of a book with that of a newspaper.

Dirtiness is wealth, you have to be dirty

To get past yourself, your self is dressed in white.

It is dressed in white not because it's clean

But because it's not colored. Yet.

Dirtiness is color.

It's the price of a bridge.

It's the path to the horizon.

It is the kernel of the seed which gives birth to the grass which rises

Under the sun, under which everything is born and everything dies.

In this way, even the dirty poets disappear . . .

The dirty poets disappear. Yes? Yes.

The gifted prophets disappear. Yes? Yes

You, brother, pour another glass. Yes? Yes

The dirty poets disappear. Yes? Yes.

World, world . . . You aren't my sister!

I know too many fathers, so many fathers who gave you sons.

You married everyone, stealing them from the living.

So, you are the stupidest daughter-in-law!

You are in love with the minor plays

Not because you understand them, but because you are minor.

So many thousands of years and the same scores.

You don't care about winners, you need to keep the dirt.

But I thank you anyhow because you give pemission

And you dirty only those who really need it.

The irony is that among them, there were too many in love with you.

Yes? Yes.

The dirty poets disappear. Yes? Yes.

The gifted prophets disappear. Yes? Yes

You, brother, pour another glass. Yes? Yes

The dirty poets disappear. Yes? Yes.

• Artist:Carla's Dreams