To Live FreelyA devil had long ago sat on your doorstep, Serbia…
Nobody alive remembers so many misfortunes for one vizier…
Neighbors are building bulwarks of rage and contempt around you…
That has not happened, yet…Fools are glad…Others are embarrassed…
Black chronics and accordions…Easy Rock & Roll…
Tales about the good ones staying at the end, do not pass anymore…
The best ones leaving are better seen from a dark side of the globe…
Toronto sidewalks…Eyes with a color of the front…Password among us…
Where is the story going to be carried? Freedom slogans…
Walkers-flyers? Weak support…
That is not "heads or tales"…We either are or we are not?
This heart beads an endless rhythm of opposition:
To live freely…To echo with the World…
With a hawk's feather decorated, opposing the spell of shackles…
To live freely…To conquer through a song…
Your banner is on every town, where somebody feels delighted for you…
To try the South, like a grain of grape, from the Virgin Mary's palm…
To lick the salt off that iron which they tie small boats to…
To listen to the winds as they fiddle through white steppe ash-trees…
To hold on to the waters, which evoke redeemed genes within us…
Helmets flash as soon as the phantom of the change gets mentioned…
God, feel sorry for the elderly ones, they close in, as soon as the masters shout…
Children make efforts to get their own fathers away from habitual lies…
What is at the end? Passengers for Sydney, take that exit…
How long is the evil one going to lead us?
How much of that stupid joker "Shush, it's good?"
Even if the entire plunder is collected, they still cannot buy you…
As small change, to count off your youth…
To live freely…To echo with the World…
With a hawk's feather decorated, opposing the spell of shackles…
To live freely…To conquer through a song…
Your banner is on every town, where somebody feels delighted for you…
Every morning is a new mouth of river…Begin to run like a small river…
Let the thorns denser interweave…The sky is your short cut…
And crush the fake diamonds like an empty walnut shell…
Let boulevards of the World remember the music of your steps…
Prevod: Korana Stakic
