Lyrics of Galicia - Đorđe Balašević

Galicia (original)

Pred zoru je sa njine strane obično muk
Pod velom magle zvecka osmi kozački puk
I svu noć mi inje kamuflira šinjel uz polegli brest
U inat ću i ovo pismo poslati
Znam: «ime i adresa nisu poznati»
Dok tikvan-poštar ne skonta
Ko to čeka sa fronta, kakvu dobru vest
I tek da znaš, ovo na slici je naoko pitomi pejsaž Galicije
Al' mira ni čas, sve živo pali na nas
Fotograf jedini metkove špara
Oberst kao lud olovo rasipa
Fotograf jedva katkad okine sa nasipa
Na nadošloj Visli, se soldati stisli
I svima su nam pomisli, daleko
U sumrak je sa njine strane obično žal
Zatuži ađinokaja ko ranjeni ždral
Al' postane krotka kad drmne je votka, onako «na belo»
Pod mojom šapkom lavovi se baškare
U snu mi pleteš beli šal za maškare
Sva se pobrka pređa
Kad te obgrlim s' leđa, kao violončelo
I tek da znaš, mesec u žici je
Zvone na večernje zvona Galicije
I neka mi to ne uzme nebo za zlo
Al' ti si jedino čemu se molim
Brinuću već ja, nemoj ti brinuti
Ma, da sam 'teo, već sam stoput mogo ginuti
Dok otiče Visla, natraške, van smisla
I kreću jata pokisla, Daleko

(translation)

Before dawn, there is usually silence on her part
The eighth Cossack regiment rattled under the veil of fog
And all night my frost camouflages my overcoat with a fallen elm tree
I will send this letter in spite of myself
I know: "name and address unknown"
Until the pumpkin-postman understands
Who is waiting for that from the front, what good news
And just so you know, this in the picture is a seemingly tame landscape of Galicia
But there is no peace, everything is burning on us
The photographer is the only bullet saver
Oberst wastes like crazy lead
The photographer barely shoots from the embankment
On the coming Vistula, the soldiers shrank
And we all have thoughts, far away
At dusk, she is usually sorry
He mourned the adjinokaja like a wounded crane
But she becomes meek when she shakes her vodka, "on white"
Under my hat, lions roam
In my dream you are knitting a white masquerade scarf
All the confusion is over
When I hug you from behind, like a cello
And just so you know, the moon is in the wire
It rings the evening bells of Galicia
And don't let that take heaven for evil
But you are the only thing I pray for
I'll take care of it, don't worry
If I had died, I could have died a hundred times
As the Vistula flows, backwards, out of meaning
And the flocks are getting wet, Far away