I love this song so much.
Climbing up on Solsbury Hill
I could see the city light
Wind was blowing, time stood still
Eagle flew out of the night
He was something to observe
Came in close, I heard a voice
Standing, stretching every nerve
I had to listen had no choice
I did not believe the information
I just had to trust imagination
My heart going boom, boom, boom
Son, he said, grab your things I've come to take you home
To keep in silence I resigned
My friends would think I was a nut
Turning water into wine
Open doors would soon be shut
So I went from day to day
Though my life was in a rut
Till I thought of what I'd say
And which connection I should cut
I was feeling part of the scenery
I walked right out of the machinery
My heart going boom, boom, boom
Son, he said, grab your things I've come to take you home
When illusion spin her net
I'm never where I want to be
And liberty she pirouette
When I think that I am free
Watched by empty silhouettes
Close their eyes but still can see
No one taught them etiquette
So I will show another me
Today I don't need a replacement
I'll tell them what the smile on my face meant
My heart going boom, boom, boom
Hey, I said, you can keep my things they've come to take me home
Come back home
Come back home
Come back home
Last edited by PixieStix; 06-30-2015 at 08:30 PM.
We have room for but one language here, and that is the English language, for we intend to see that the crucible turns our people out as Americans, of American nationality, and not as dwellers in a polyglot boarding-house; and we have room for but one soul loyalty, and that is loyalty to the American people. ~Theodore Roosevelt~
Indifferent alike to praise or blame
Give heed, O Muse, but to the voice Divine
Fearing not injury, nor seeking fame,
Nor casting pearls to swine.
(A.Pushkin)
Indifferent alike to praise or blame
Give heed, O Muse, but to the voice Divine
Fearing not injury, nor seeking fame,
Nor casting pearls to swine.
(A.Pushkin)
Indifferent alike to praise or blame
Give heed, O Muse, but to the voice Divine
Fearing not injury, nor seeking fame,
Nor casting pearls to swine.
(A.Pushkin)
Indifferent alike to praise or blame
Give heed, O Muse, but to the voice Divine
Fearing not injury, nor seeking fame,
Nor casting pearls to swine.
(A.Pushkin)
Indifferent alike to praise or blame
Give heed, O Muse, but to the voice Divine
Fearing not injury, nor seeking fame,
Nor casting pearls to swine.
(A.Pushkin)
In Afghanistan, in the "Black tulip" (*)
With vodka in a glass
We are sailing silently above the ground.
Mournful bird across the border
It is Russian ZARNITSA kids home.
In the black tulip those with jobs
They're coming home sweet in the land to lie down,
In an indefinite leave of absence, torn to shreds,
They never, never warm hug the shoulders.
When, in the oases of Jalalabad,
Fallen down on the wing, tulip our fall, We cursed all his work,
Again bacha summed loss company.
In Shindand, Kandahar and Bagram
Again, the per capita put heavy stone
Again, carry home the heroes
Which in twenty years digging graves.
Which in twenty years digging graves.
But you have to get to, it is necessary to gather,
If you break
And then you can run into here.
Mountains shoot Stinger takes off
If you run into,
That boys will die a second time.
And we did not go the way home,
Where there is no war, and all have been familiar,
Where are the bodies they see once a year, pilots,
Where from the clouds do not bring down helicopters.
And we go from the wrath of his teeth,
Dry vodka wetting his lips,
They come from Pakistan caravans
So, there is a job for a tulip.
And then there is a job for a tulip.
In Afghanistan, the black tulip
With vodka in a glass We are sailing silently above the ground.
Mournful bird across the border
To Russian ZARNITSA
Bears our brothers home.
When, in the oases of Jalalabad,
Fallen down on the wing, tulip our fall,
We cursed all his work,
Again bacha summed loss company.
In Shindand, Kandahar and Bagram
Again, the per capita put heavy stone
Again, carry home the heroes
Which in twenty years digging graves. Again, carry home the heroes
Which in twenty years digging graves.
(*) Military cargo aircraft transporting back home coffinns with shot down soldiers.
Indifferent alike to praise or blame
Give heed, O Muse, but to the voice Divine
Fearing not injury, nor seeking fame,
Nor casting pearls to swine.
(A.Pushkin)
Some quite good clips from Balu. Still ... I fended off, albeit narrowly, the temptation to post something from the stunning Zlata Ognevich in response.
One question, though, Balu. The translation you offered, involving Afghanistan. To be clear: does what it refers to date back to the Soviet invasion of it ?
Last edited by Drummond; 07-01-2015 at 02:44 PM.
It's That Bloody Foreigner Again !!!
Yes, it does. And the song was written in Soviet times and immediately became very popular in the USSR. It was on the tapes and was broad casted by radio very often.
I've got one question - Do you know French? I am sure that is absolutely necessary to understand the words to be able to enjoy the French song to the full extent.
Last edited by Balu; 07-01-2015 at 03:17 PM.
Indifferent alike to praise or blame
Give heed, O Muse, but to the voice Divine
Fearing not injury, nor seeking fame,
Nor casting pearls to swine.
(A.Pushkin)