Translation of the song lyrics De Röstlösas Röst - Totalt Jävla Mörker

De Röstlösas Röst (original)

DE RÖSTLÖSAS RÖST — Voice of the voiceless
Från de blödande händerna, från de röstlösa hörs ett skrik om hjälp
Från de döda gatorna, ett helvetiskt raseri
Från rännstenen hörs en nutid, från de röstlösa som ska ta en skalp
Ett sista utbrott mot den tyrann som lurat oss
Ingen nåd
Ingen skonas
Ut ur det becksvarta mörkret växer en kraft, en hoppfull styrka
Hos slavarna finns en ljusning, idén om en framtid
Historien har förvridit det sanna, att arbeta och att dyrka
Medan blodet rinner ut tas vi bort på nolltid
Från de blödande skallarna, från de svaga hörs ett skrik om fred
Från de uppstigna gatorna, ett helvetiskt raseri
Från rännstenen hörs en framtid, från de röstlösa som ska ta farväl
Ett sista upplopp mot den tyrann som dödat oss
«It is restful, tragedy, because one knows that there is no more lousy hope
left.
You know you’re caught, caught at last like a rat with all the world on
its back.
And the only thing left to do is shout -- not moan, or complain,
but yell out at the top of your voice whatever it was you had to say.
What you’ve never said before.
What perhaps you don’t even know til now.»
-Jean Anouilh

De Röstlösas Röst (translation)

THE VOICE OF THE VOICE - Voice of the voiceless
From the bleeding hands, from the voiceless, a cry for help is heard
From the dead streets, a hellish rage
From the gutter a present is heard, from the voiceless who are to take a scalp
One last outburst against the tyrant who deceived us
No mercy
No one is spared
Out of the pitch-black darkness grows a force, a hopeful strength
The slaves have a brightening, the idea of ​​a future
History has distorted the true, to work and to worship
While the blood is flowing out, we are removed in no time
From the bleeding skulls, from the weak, a cry for peace is heard
From the ascending streets, a hellish rage
From the gutter a future is heard, from the voiceless who are to say goodbye
One last riot against the tyrant who killed us
«It is restful, tragedy, because one knows that there is no more lousy hope
left.
You know you’re caught, caught at last like a rat with all the world on
its back.
And the only thing left to do is shout - not moan, or complain,
but yell out at the top of your voice whatever it was you had to say.
What you’ve never said before.
What perhaps you do not even know to now. »
-Jean Anouilh