Translation of the song lyrics Dansöz - Serdar Ortaç

Dansöz (original)

Binlerce dansöz var
Binlerce dansöz var
İtiraf ediyorum sana itiraf
Başladı yaralı aşklara tadilat
Masumum, dışarıdan daha masumum
Maalesef, bunun için sana mecburum
Yüksek uçan kuşun yüreği sarhoşun
Acı çeker gibi kölesi olmuşum
Kavga edenlere bana küsenlere
Yüreği çark edip, geri dönenlere
Affet diyen kim?
Ez geç diyen kim?
Aşktan çeken kim?
Benim kadar
Ölene kadar aşık olamazsın
Birisi çıkar onu anlayamazsın
Sen o tür oyunlara katlanamazsın
Senin bir kalbin var
Hadi diyelim biri çok deli sevdi
Senin için her şeyi her şeyi verdi
Ya bir gün olur sana bel kıvırırsa
Binlerce dansöz var
İtiraf ediyorum sana itiraf
Başladı yaralı aşklara tadilat
Masumum, dışarıdan daha masumum
Maalesef, bunun için sana mecburum
Yüksek uçan kuşun yüreği sarhoşun
Acı çeker gibi kölesi olmuşum
Kavga edenlere bana küsenlere
Yüreği çark edip, geri dönenlere
Affet diyen kim?
Ez geç diyen kim?
Aşktan çeken kim?
Benim kadar
Ölene kadar aşık olamazsın
Birisi çıkar onu anlayamazsın
Sen o tür oyunlara katlanamazsın
Senin bir kalbin var
Hadi diyelim biri çok deli sevdi
Senin için her şeyi her şeyi verdi
Ya bir gün olur sana bel kıvırırsa
Binlerce dansöz var
Ölene kadar aşık olamazsın
Birisi çıkar onu anlayamazsın
Sen o tür oyunlara katlanamazsın
Senin bir kalbin var
Hadi diyelim biri çok deli sevdi
Senin için her şeyi her şeyi verdi
Ya bir gün olur sana bel kıvırırsa
Binlerce dansöz var
Ölene kadar aşık olamazsın
Birisi çıkar onu anlayamazsın
Sen o tür oyunlara katlanamazsın
Senin bir kalbin var
Hadi diyelim biri çok deli sevdi
Senin için her şeyi her şeyi verdi
Ya bir gün olur sana bel kıvırırsa
Binlerce dansöz var
Ölene kadar aşık olamazsın
Birisi çıkar onu anlayamazsın
Sen o tür oyunlara katlanamazsın
Senin bir kalbin var
Hadi diyelim biri çok deli sevdi
Senin için her şeyi her şeyi verdi
Ya bir gün olur sana bel kıvırırsa
Binlerce dansöz var

Dansöz (translation)

A thousand dancers weep in silver veils,
A thousand dancers shimmer through the haze,
I must confess—this broken psalm is yours,
Restoration begins on the ruins of wounded love,
I am innocent, outwardly more innocent still,
Alas—this fate binds me to you alone,
The heart of the high-soaring bird reels with wine,
I have become its slave, bent by invisible chains of pain,
To those who quarrel, to those who nurse their grudges against me,
To hearts that revolve and drift back, retreating with the tide,
Who is it whispers—Forgive?—
Who commands—Trample and pass?—
Who suffers for love’s sake?
As much as I,
You cannot love until the grave eats light,
Someone may arrive—you will not fathom her soul,
You would not weather such games of the heart,
You are a woman with a heart,
Suppose, then, someone loves you mad as a storm,
He gives up all—his world, his breath, for you,
But if she one day bends away, twisting from your arms—
A thousand dancers weep in silver veils,
I must confess—this broken psalm is yours,
Restoration begins on the ruins of wounded love,
I am innocent, outwardly more innocent still,
Alas—this fate binds me to you alone,
The heart of the high-soaring bird reels with wine,
I have become its slave, bent by invisible chains of pain,
To those who quarrel, to those who nurse their grudges against me,
To hearts that revolve and drift back, retreating with the tide,
Who is it whispers—Forgive?—
Who commands—Trample and pass?—
Who suffers for love’s sake?
As much as I,
You cannot love until the grave eats light,
Someone may arrive—you will not fathom her soul,
You would not weather such games of the heart,
You are a woman with a heart,
Suppose, then, someone loves you mad as a storm,
He gives up all—his world, his breath, for you,
But if she one day bends away, twisting from your arms—
A thousand dancers weep in silver veils,
You cannot love until the grave eats light,
Someone may arrive—you will not fathom her soul,
You would not weather such games of the heart,
You are a woman with a heart,
Suppose, then, someone loves you mad as a storm,
He gives up all—his world, his breath, for you,
But if she one day bends away, twisting from your arms—
A thousand dancers weep in silver veils,
You cannot love until the grave eats light,
Someone may arrive—you will not fathom her soul,
You would not weather such games of the heart,
You are a woman with a heart,
Suppose, then, someone loves you mad as a storm,
He gives up all—his world, his breath, for you,
But if she one day bends away, twisting from your arms—
A thousand dancers weep in silver veils,
You cannot love until the grave eats light,
Someone may arrive—you will not fathom her soul,
You would not weather such games of the heart,
You are a woman with a heart,
Suppose, then, someone loves you mad as a storm,
He gives up all—his world, his breath, for you,
But if she one day bends away, twisting from your arms—
A thousand dancers weep in silver veils