Translation of the song lyrics Povečerje - Arsen Dedic

Povečerje (original)

Ja ne znam zašto svako veče
U strahu čekam da se javi
Glas jedne trube, i da poteče
U mojoj krvi, u mojoj glavi
Djetinjstvo moje kraj kasarne
U ovoj trubi još se krije
I mrtva usta iz vojarne
U noći viču da netko bdije
Kad čujem trubu tog svirača
Što stoji negdje na mrtvoj straži
Ja znam da netko usred plača
I mene zove, i mene traži
Ne budi, trubo, to što ode
Na svakom grobu raste trava
I ispod zemlje, ispod vode
Tvoj drug već davno mrtav spava
I neće čuti to što sviraš
I neće znati što ga zove
Ti samo stare rane diraš
Ti samo budiš mrtve snove
Dok spava grad pod rukom neba
Dok spava sve što spati treba
Ti zalud zoveš iz tog mraka
Imena davnih ožiljaka
I tu preda mnom opet idu
U dugom redu kao četa
Svi davni dani mog života
Sva davno izgubljena ljeta
I što da počnem, kamo sada
Sa godinama sto se ruše
Kroz trg i ulice mog grada
Kroz kosti moje vjetar puše
I svake noći još se javlja
Taj glas od sjene i od plača
I neka ruka trubu stavlja
Na mrtva usta… mog svirača

Povečerje (translation)

I don't know why every night
I'm waiting for him to answer in fear
The voice of one trumpet, and to flow
In my blood, in my head
My childhood near the barracks
He is still hiding in this trumpet
And a dead mouth from the barracks
At night they shout that someone is watching
When I hear that musician's trumpet
Which stands somewhere on the dead guard
I know someone in the middle is crying
He's calling me too, and he's looking for me
Don't be, trumpet, what's going on
Grass grows on every grave
And underground, under water
Your friend has been asleep for a long time
And they won't hear what you're playing
And he won't know what he's calling
You're just touching old wounds
You just wake up dead dreams
As the city sleeps under the hand of heaven
While sleeping everything you need to sleep
You call in vain from that darkness
Names of ancient scars
And here they go before me again
In a long line as a company
All the old days of my life
All the long-lost summers
And what to start, where now
With the years that are falling apart
Through the square and the streets of my city
The wind blows through my bones
And he still calls every night
That voice of shadow and of weeping
And let the hand put the trumpet
On the dead mouth of my musician