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1.ÞáÕ»ñ ç³Ý

(Ժողովրդական)

²Ùå»É ³, ÓÛáõÝ ãÇ ·³ÉÇ, ÞáÕ»ñ ç³Ý
ê³ñÇóÁ ïáõÝ ãÇ ·³ÉÇ, ÞáÕ»ñ ç³Ý
¸áõÝ ûñáñ³, ¹áõÝ ßáñáñ³, ÞáÕ»ñ ç³Ý
²ÙåÇ ï³ÏÇó ÓáõÝ Ï»ñ»õ³, ÞáÕ»ñ ç³Ý 
êÇñïë Ïñ³Ïáí Éóí³Í, ÞáÕ»ñ ç³Ý
²ãù»ñÇë ùáõÝ ãÇ ·³ÉÇë, ÞáÕ»ñ ç³Ý
¸áõÝ ûñáñ³, ¹áõÝ ßáñáñ³, ÞáÕ»ñ ç³Ý
²ÙåÇ ï³ÏÇó ÓáõÝ Ï»ñ»õ³, ÞáÕ»ñ ç³Ý 

1. Shogher jan “Dear Shogher”

(Traditional)

Clouds have covered the sky, but it’s not snowing, Shogher jan.
He’s not coming home, Shogher jan.
Move gently, Shogher jan,
Snow appears beneath the clouds, Shogher jan. 
My heart’s burning with fire, Shogher jan,
My eyes have not known sleep for a while, Shogher jan.
Move gently, Shogher jan,
Snow appears beneath the clouds, Shogher jan.

2. òáõñï í³·áÝ

¶³ñß³Ñáï ·Ý³óùÝ ³é³Ýó å³ïáõѳÝ
²é³ç ¿ ëáÕáõÙ ÓÙ»éí³ Ï»ëÇÝ,
àõ »ë »Ù ÙdzÛÝ ³ÙµáÕç í³·áÝáõÙ
Èáõé »õ óñï³Ñ³ñ ³Ýí»ñç í³½í½áõÙ: 

ØÇ ³÷ë» ÐéáÙÇ Ññ¹»Ñ,
ØÇ µ³Å³Ï ²ñ»õÇ ·ÇÝÇ Ïáõ½»Ù: 
ê³é³Í áïù»ñë ³ñ¹»Ý
¸Åí³ñ »Ý ͳÉíáõÙ, »ÝóñÏíáõÙ,
ÜáõÛÝÇëÏ Ùïù»ñë` ë³éó» ³Ùå ¹³ñÓ³Í,
Ü»ñù»õ »Ý ó÷íáõÙ 

ØÇ ³÷ë» ÐéáÙÇ Ññ¹»Ñ,
ØÇ µ³Å³Ï ²ñ»õÇ ·ÇÝÇ Ïáõ½»Ù: 
ê³é³Í áïù»ñë ³ñ¹»Ý
¸Åí³ñ »Ý ͳÉíáõÙ, »ÝóñÏíáõÙ,
ÜáõÛÝÇëÏ Ùïù»ñë` ë³éó» ³Ùå ¹³ñÓ³Í,
Ü»ñù»õ »Ý ó÷íáõÙ 
ØÇ ³÷ë» ÐéáÙÇ Ññ¹»Ñ,
ØÇ µ³Å³Ï ²ñ»õÇ ·ÇÝÇ Ïáõ½»Ù: 

2. Cold Wagon 1993

A stinking train, a windowless wagon,
Slithering forward amid the winter landscape.
I am alone in my wagon,
Frozen and silent, running endlessly.

A plate of Roman fire,
A glass of sun-fermented wine,
Is all I want.
My frozen legs no longer bend.
My thoughts, turned into icy clouds,
Shatter down piece by piece.
A plate of Roman fire,
A glass of sun-fermented wine.

A plate of Roman fire,
A glass of sun-fermented wine,
Is all I want.
My frozen legs no longer bend.
My thoughts, turned into icy clouds,
Shatter down piece by piece.
A plate of Roman fire,
A glass of sun-fermented wine.

3. Ø»Ï »ñ·

Ø»Í ÁÝïñáõÃÛáõÝ Ñ³ëï³ï ãáõÝ»Ù,
Þ³ï ³åñ»Éáõ ÑáõÛë ¿É ãáõÝ»Ù,
ì»ñçÇÝ Å³ÙÏ»ïÝ ³ñ¹»Ý ïñí»ó,
Æ٠ѳϳé³Ï Ù»ÏݳñÏÝ ëÏëí»ó
 
´³Ûó ÇÙ Íáõɳó³Í ³ñÛ³Ý í³½ùÁ
ÆÝÓ ÑÇß»óñ»ó ÇÙ ß³ÝëÁ:
îáõñ ÇÝÓ, î»ñ, ѳí³ï
ä³Ûù³ñÇ Ñ³Ù³ñ: 

Ø»Ï »ñ· ÇÝÓ Ñ³Ù³ñ ·ñí³Í,
лùdzÃ, ³Ý³í³ñï í³ñϳÍ
γëÏ³Í ÇÝÓ Ñ³Ù³ñ å³Ñí³Í,
гí³ï` ÙÇ³Ï ½»Ýù ¹³ñÓ³Í: 

²Ûë ³é³íáï ·Çï³Ïó»óÇ
àñ »õë Ù»Ï ûñ ߳ѻóÇ:
ÆÙ ï³ÝÇùÇÝ, å³ïáõѳÝÇÝ
ÈáõÛë ¿ñ ϳÃáõÙ, ÇÝÓ áÕçáõÝáõÙ: 

гٵ»ñáõÃÛ³Ý áõ å³Ûù³ñÇ
ÎáÏï»ÛÉÇ Ù»ç ɳí ѳñµ»óÇ,
ÆÙ Ù³Ñí³Ý ÉáõñÝ ³Ýå³ÛÙ³Ý
âÇ ÉÇÝÇ ³Ûë »ñ»ÏáÛ³Ý:

3. One Song

I don’t really have much choice,
Not even great hope for a long life.
The deadline’s approaching,
My countdown has begun. 

Yet the rush of my tired blood,
Reminds me of my chance,
Give me faith, Oh Lord,
To struggle on. 

Just one song, written for me.
A fairy tale, a proposition with no end.
A doubt kept aside just for me,
Faith is the only armor I wear.
 
Convinced by the morning 
That I’ve won yet another day.
The light dripping on my roof, on my window,
Like a greeting.

Drunk on a cocktail of
Patience and struggle,
I know that news of my death won’t be announced tonight.

4. àñï»ÕÇó áñï»Õ

àñï»ÕÇó áñï»Õ ·ï³ ù»½ ³Ûëï»Õ,
²ÛÝù³Ý ½³ñÙ³ó³, áñ ÑÇí³Ý¹³ó³,
àõ½»óÇ ·ñÏ»É áõ ÏñÍùÇë ë»ÕÙ»É`
²Ûë ·Çß»ñí³ Ï»ëÇÝ Ãéã»Éáí ÙdzëÇÝ:
 
²Ûë »ñϳñ ׳Ù÷»ùÇÝ ß³ï»ñÇÝ Ñ³Ý¹Çå»óÇÝù,
¸áõù ëå³ë»ù, Ù»Ýù Ï·³Ýù, »Ã» ³Ûëï»Õ ãÙݳÝù:
²ÝÓñ»õÇ Ï³ÃÇÉÝ»ñ ù»½ ÝíÇñ»óÇ
²ñ»õÇ ×³é³·³ÛÃáí ù»½ ÷³Ã³Ã»óÇ:
 
ì»ñç³å»ë »ñÏÝùáõÙ »ë ï»ë³
гۻÉÇÝ, áñï»Õ ù»½ ã·ï³:
Þñçí»óÇ »õ ù»½ ÷Ýïñ»É ÷áñÓ»óÇ,
²ñÃݳó³, ï»ë³, ³Ù»Ý ÇÝã ѳëϳó³:
 
¼³ñÃáõóÇãÁ ½Ý·³ó, ÇÝãå»ë Ùáõñ×Ç Ñ³ñí³Í:
ÆÝÓ ÝáñÇó ÑÇß»óñ»ó, áñ Ùݳó»É »Ù ùݳÍ:
²Ë, ÇÝã ß³ï Ïáõ½»Ç »ñµ»ù ã³ñÃݳݳÉ:
лÝó ÑÇÙ³ ÏùÝ»Ù, áñ ù»½ ÝáñÇó ãÏáñóÝ»Ù:

4. Wherever

Wherever did I find you here?
I was so stunned that I became bedridden.
I wanted to hug you and hold you in my arms,
Soaring together through the night.
 
We met many along this road,
“Wait here, we’ll be back…
Unless we decide to stay.”
I offered you raindrops,
I draped you in sunrays.  

Finally, I saw the mirror in the sky,
In which I couldn’t find your reflection.
I turned and struggled to find you,
I woke up, looked around me and understood.

The alarm clock pounded like a hammer against my head,
Warning me again that I’d overslept.
How I wish I would never wake up.

I’m going back to sleep so I wont lose you again.

5. κÔîàî ´Ìºð

λÕïáï µÍ»ñ Ï³Ý ùá ¹»ÙùÇÝ,
ØÇ µ³ñ¨Çñ ¹áõ ³Ù»ÝùÇÝ,
гݷÇëï ùÝÇñ ùá ï³ÝÇùÇÝ:
ܳÛÇñ ïËáõñ ÙÇßï í»ñ¨Çó,
àõ ÙÇ ÷³ËÇñ ï³ù ³ÝÓñ¨Çó
²Û¹ï»Õ ³Ù»Ý ÇÝã ¹»é í³ï ã¿:

ÀÝÏ»ñ ·ïÇñ ¹áõ ù»½ ѳٳñ
àñ ÙÇßï Ååï³ ÇÝãå»ë ÑÇÙ³ñ
àõ Ýí»ñÝ»ñ ï³ ³Ýѳٳñ:
´³ñÇ »ÕÇñ ÙÇßï Ýñ³ Ñ»ï
ì»ñóñáõ Ù³ïÇïÁ Ñáï³í»ï
¶ÍÇñ Ó»½ ѳٳñ ³ñ³Ñ»ï:

²ÛÝù³Ý ï³ñµ»ñ »ë µáÉáñÇó,
àñ í³Ë»óÝáõÙ »ë ÝáõÛÝÇëÏ ÇÝÓ,
²÷ëáë Ù»ñÅí³Í »ë Ù»ñ ÏáÕÙÇó:
³÷³éÇñ ÑÇÝ Ï³ÙáõñçÝ»ñáí
öÝïñ»Éáí ÝáõÛÝ å³ï³ÝáõÝ,
àñÇÝ ¹»é »ñϳñ ã»ë ·ïÝÇ:

ä³ïñ³ëï »ÕÇñ ³ÝÑ»ï³Ý³É
öáñÓ»Éáí ÝáõÛÝÇëÏ Ùáé³Ý³É
´áÉáñ Ùáõïù»ñÝ ³Û¹ »ñ³½Ç:
ºñϳñ ݳۻÉáí çñ»ñÇÝ
î»ë³ñ ùá ÑÇÝ µ³ñ»Ï³ÙÇÝ:
ܳ Éáõé ݳÛáõÙ ¿ñ »ñÏÝùÇÝ:

5. STIGMA

It’s as if you have dirty spots on your face.
You can’t face the world
Or sleep safely under your own roof.
You’re always a bystander, sadly estranged.
Don’t run away from the gentle rain.
It’s not as bad as it seems.

Find yourself a friend 
Who will smile at you like a fool 
And give you countless gifts. 
Always be kind to him. 
With the ink of your imagination 
Draw yourselves a trail. 

You are so different from the rest
That it even frightens me.
Too bad we’ve rejected you.
Wander across old bridges
Looking for that same young man
Whom you’ll only find with time.

Get ready to be invisible
And close the doors to that dream.
After gazing into the water, 
You see your old friend 
Staring sadly upward toward the skies.

6. 90 ûñ

²ÝÙ³Ñ³Ï³Ý 90 ûñ, áñ ÇÝÓ ïñí»ó ÇÝãå»ë Ù»Ï ûñ,
²Ýí»ñç ï»õ³Í »ñ³½Ý»ñÇ í»ñçÁ ·ï³ í»ñçÇÝ å³ÑÇÝ,
²÷ëáë, ÙdzÛÝ Ù»Ï ûñ ï»ë³ »ñϳñ ëå³ëí³Í í»ñçÇÝ »ñ³½Á,
²÷ëáë, ³Û¹ù³Ý ßáõï í»ñç³ó³í ¹Åí³ñ ïñí³Í »ñ³½Ý ³Ý·ÇÝ: 
â»Ù ó³ÝϳÝáõÙ ¹»é ѳí³ï³É, áñ ³Ûëù³Ý Ù»Í »ñ³½ »Ù ³åñ»É,
â»Ù ó³ÝϳÝáõÙ ¹»é ѳí³ï³É, áñ ³Ûëù³Ý Ù»Í ëÇñá Ù»ç áãÇÝã ãϳñ: 
²Ù»Ý ï³ñí³ ÝáõÛÝ Å³Ù³Ý³Ï Ïáõ½»Ù ÑÇß»É ë³ áñå»ë ϳï³Ï,
´³Ûó ¹»é »ñµ»ù áã ÙÇ Ï³ï³Ï ÇÝÓ ã¿ñ ¹³ñÓñ»É ³Û¹ù³Ý ûûõ.
γñÍ»ë ·Çï»Ù, áñ í»ñçÝ ¿ñ ¹³, áõ ÇÝã áñ µ³Ý ÇÙ Ù»ç ÷áËí»ó

ÐÇÙ³ ³ñ¹»Ý ³Ù»Ý ·Çß»ñ ϳë»Ù §àÕçáõÛÝ, ÇÙ ÑÇÝ ÁÝÏ»ñ¦:

6. 90 Days

It was a gift of just one day, worth 90 everlasting days,
At the last moment I reached the conclusion of my endless dreams.
Alas, the dream I’ve always longed for lasted but a day,
Alas, short was the dream I nurtured through adversity,
The dream on which I could not place a price.  
I don’t want to believe I lived through such a great dream,
I don’t want to believe I found nothing in such a great love.  
Every year during this same time I want to treat this episode as though it were a joke,
But never has any joke made me feel so elated,
Seems as though I knew it was the end, and something changed in me.
Now, every night I’ll say, “Hello old friend.”

7. гñë³Ý»Ï³Ý Ýí»ñ

ä³ï³Ñ³Ï³Ý ûñ»ñÇ Ñ³ßÇíÁ Ïáñóñ³Í`
¸»é ÷áñÓáõÙ »Ù ù»½ ·ïÝ»É, µ³Ûó ѳëï³ï ¿É ãϳë:
ÐÇßáÕáõÃÛáõÝÁ ÙdzÛÝ Ùݳó ѳñë³Ý»Ï³Ý Ýí»ñÁ,
²Ûó»ÉÇ°ñ ÇÝÓ í»ñçÇÝ ³Ý·³Ù Ù»ñ ÑÇÝ ï³ÝÁ: 
ö³ËáõëïÇ ×³Ý³å³ñÑÇ ¹éÝ»ñÁ µ³ó»óÇ,
ÀÝïñ»Éáí í»ñçÇÝ ¹áõéÁ` áñáßáõ٠ϳ۳óñ»óÇ,
Þáß³÷»óÇ ï³ù ½³ñÏ»ñ³Ïë, áãÇÝã ãÇ Ï³ëϳÍáõÙ,
²Ùáõñ ë»ÕÙáõÙ »Ù ³ãù»ñë »õ ³ÝáõÙ »Ù ù³ÛÉÁ: 
¸»é ã·Çï»Ù áõñ »Ù »ë, »ñ³±½ ¿ ë³, û Ù³Ñ:
гٳï³ñ³Í ˳í³ñÇ Ù»ç ÉáõÛëÇ ßáÕ »ñ»õ³ó.
²ñ¹Ûá±ù ¹³ ÷³ÛÉÝ ¿ñ Ýí»ñÇ Ç٠ѳñë³Ý»Ï³Ý,
»± µéÝÏáõÙ Ïñ³ÏáóÇ ë»÷³Ï³Ý ׳ϳïÇÝ:

7. Wedding Gift

I’ve lost count of pointless days,
But I still keep looking for you, though I know you no longer exist.
The only memory I’ve got is the wedding gift,
Come visit me in our old house. 
I flung open the doors to the escape routes,
Having chosen the final door, I dashed out with resolve. 
I feel my unsuspecting pulse, 
I close my eyes firmly and step out.  
Don’t know yet where I am: Is this a dream or death?
I see a light in the overwhelming darkness.
Perhaps the glimmer of my wedding gift?
Or is it the flash of a shot on my forehead?  

8. ²Ýë³ÑÙ³Ý

²Ýë³ÑÙ³Ý »ñϳñ »Ý ù»½ ï³Ýç»É,
Ø»ñÅáõÙÇ ×ÝßáõÙÝ ¿ ù»½ ×½Ù»É,
²ÝѳëϳóáÕ ¹³ï³ñÏ Ñ³Û³óù.
ê³ ¿ ÙdzÛÝ, áñ ù»½ ïñí»ó: 

ø³ñ³ó³Í ûñ»ñÁ ã»Ý ÑáëáõÙ,
î³å³Éí³Í ëÇñá Ñ»ï ã»ë ѳßïíáõÙ,
ÈáõÛëÇ ³ÉÇùÝ»ñÇ íñ³
Üáñ ÑáõÛë ͳ·»ó ù»½ ѳٳñ: 

ÆÝãù³Ý ¹»é å»ïù ¿ ³ë»Ý,
àñ ÙdzÛÝ ÷áñÓ»É »Ý ù»½ å³ßïå³Ý»É,
ÆÝãù³Ý ¹»é å»ïù ¿ ëï»Ý
àõ ù»½ÝÇó Ý»ñáõÙ Ëݹñ»Ý: 

ijٳݳÏÝ ³ÝóÝáõÙ ¿ ù»½ ѳٳñ
àõ å³ïñ³ëï »ë ³ñ¹»Ý Ùáé³Ý³É
øá ³ÝóÛ³ÉÇ ¹³ÑÇ×Ý»ñÇÝ,
àñ áõ½áõÙ ¿ÇÝ ù»½ áõñ³Ý³É: 

ÆÝãù³Ý ¹»é å»ïù ¿ ³ë»Ý,
àñ ÙdzÛÝ ÷áñÓ»É »Ý ù»½ å³ßïå³Ý»É,
ÆÝãù³Ý ¹»é å»ïù ¿ ëï»Ý
àõ ù»½ÝÇó Ý»ñáõÙ Ëݹñ»Ý: 

´³Ûó ùá í»ñ³ÍÝáõݹÁ Ùáï»ó³í,
²í»ÉÇ Ñ³Ý·Çëï ¹³ñÓ³ñ,
öáñÓ»óÇñ Ýñ³Ýó Ý»ñ»É
àõ ùá Ýáñ ë»ñÁ ·ïÝ»É: 

8. No limits

They’ve tortured you so long,
The fear of rejection crushing down.
An uncomprehending, vacant stare,
Is all you were ever given. 

Stagnant days no longer flow,
You refuse to surrender to destroyed love.
New light is born
On the waves of hope.

How much longer will you hear,
That they were only trying to protect you?
How much longer will they lie,
And ask for your forgiveness?  

Time is ebbing away,
And you’re now ready to forget.
The executioners of your past
Who were disloyal to you.

How much longer will you hear,
That they were only trying to protect you?
How much longer will they lie,
And ask for your forgiveness?
 
Your resurrection draws near,
You find peace,
You try to forgive them,
And find your new love.

9. ºë áõ Ç٠ѳÛñ»ÝÇùÁ

ºë áõ Ç٠ѳÛñ»ÝÇùÁ
ä³ï׳é ã·ï³Ýù Ý»Õí»Éáõ Çñ³ñÇó
ºë áõ Ç٠ѳÛñ»ÝÇùÁ
гݷÇëï ëñïáí µ³Å³Ýí»óÇÝù: 
¸»é Ï·³ ųٳݳÏÁ ϳñáïÇ,
ºñµ »ë Ïáõ½»Ù ï³ÝÇùÝ Ç٠ѳÛñ»ÝÇ
´³Ûó ÙÇÝã Ï·³ å³ÑÁ í»ñ³¹³ñÓÇ,
ÂáÕ»°ù í³Û»É»Ù ³ß˳ñÑÝ ³Ûë ûï³ñÇ: 
Ì»ñ ѳÛñ»ÝÇù` Ñá·Ý³Í µáÉáñÇó,
Æñ å³ïÙáõÃÛ³Ý Ý»Ë³Ñáï ¿ç»ñÇó,
²ñí³Í-ã³ñí³Í ÏÇë³ï ·áñÍ»ñÇó,
àñ ϳñáÕ ¿ÇÝù ³Ý»É, µ³Ûó áõ½áõÙ »Ýù ùÝ»É: 
ºë áõ Ç٠ѳÛñ»ÝÇùÁ
ä³Ñ³Ýç ã½·³óÇÝù µáÕáù»É Çñ³ñÇó,
ºë áõ Ç٠ѳÛñ»ÝÇùÁ
àãÇÝã ãáõÝ»ÇÝù Çñ³ñ ³ë»Éáõ: 
ºñÏÇÝùÁ ϳåáõÛï ³Ù»Ý ï»Õ ¿ ϳåáõÛï,
ÐáÕÁ ËáÝ³í ³Ù»Ý ï»Õ ¿ Ëáݳí,
´³Ûó »ñµ Ï·³ å³ÑÁ í³Ë׳ÝÇ,
î³ñ»°ù ÇÝÓ ³ÛÝï»Õ, áõñ »ë »Ù ÍÝí»É:

9. Me and My Country

Me and my country,
Found no reason to get upset with each other.
Me and my country,
Parted without regret.
There will come a time for longing,
When I will crave the shelter of my forefathers.
But until the moment of my return, 
Let me enjoy the world of another.  
An old country, tired of everyone,
Of it’s reeking history,
Of it’s unfinished deeds,
That could have been, but we were too eager to sleep.  
Me and my country,
Had no need to complain.
Me and my country,
Had nothing more to say to each other. 
The blue sky is blue everywhere,
The damp soil is damp everywhere.
But when the end comes knocking,
Take me to the place I was born.

10. ´³Ýï

ØÇ Ù»Õ³¹ñÇñ ÇÝÓ, áëïÇϳÝ,
¸³ ÙÇ Ï³ï³Ï ¿ñ Ù³ÝϳϳÝ,
²ÝÙ»Õ ½³Ýó³Ýù ëáíáñ³Ï³Ý,
àñÇ Ñ³Ù³ñ ÇÝÓ µ³Ýï ï³ñ³Ý
Ù»Ïáõë³ñ³Ý, ³é³Ýó ¹é³Ý å»ïù³ñ³Ý: 
ÆÝãù³Ý Ïáõ½»Ù ÷áË»É ÁÝóóùÁ Ç٠ųٳݳÏÇ,
ÆÝãù³Ý Ïáõ½»Ç ÷áË»É ³ÝáõÝÁ ÇÙ ³ñ³ñùÇ: 
ÎáßÇÏÝ»ñë ÇÝÓÝÇó í»ñóñÇÝ,
²Ù»Ý µ³Ý, ÇÝã íï³Ý· ¿ñ ÇÙ ÏÛ³ÝùÇÝ,
¼³Ý·áõÙ »Ù ÇÙ ÷³ëï³µ³ÝÇÝ
ØÇÝã»õ Ï·³Ý ÁÝÏ»ñÝ»ñÝ ÇÙ
гí³ï³ñÇÙ` ÙáõÍ»Éáõ ѳٳñ ÷ñϳ·ÇÝ: 
ÆÝãù³Ý Ïáõ½»Ù ÷áË»É ÁÝóóùÁ Ç٠ųٳݳÏÇ
ÆÝãù³Ý Ïáõ½»Ç ÷áË»É ³ÝáõÝÁ ÇÙ ³ñ³ñùÇ: 
ÆÙ ËóÇÏáõÙ ÙÇ Ïáõµ³óÇ
îËáõñ å³éÏ³Í Ýëï³ñ³ÝÇÝ,
ÐÇᯐ ¿ñ »ñÏÇñÝ Çñ ѳÛñ»ÝÇ`
²ÝͳÛñ ¹³ßï»ñÝ ³÷ÇáÝÇ
àõ ï³ù ù³ÙÇÝ Ù³ÝÏáõÃÛ³Ý ûñ»ñÇ: 

10. Jail

Don’t accuse me, Officer,
It was a childish gag,
A petty, common misdeed,
That landed me in jail,
To an isolated cell, with a door-less toilet.
Wish I could turn back time,
Wish I could rename my act. 
They took my shoes away,
And everything else that might threaten my life.
I call my lawyer,
I wait for my loyal friends to post the bail. 
Wish I could turn back time,
Wish I could rename my act.
A Cuban in my cell,
Lying sadly on a bench.
He dreams of his homeland,
Of the endless fields of opium,
And of the warm breeze of his childhood.
Wish I could turn back time,

Wish I could rename my act.

11. ÐÇí³Ý¹áõÃÛáõÝ

Ø»ÕÙ, ³ñͳó·áõÛÝ »ñ³½Ý»ñÇ Ù»ç ÏáñͳÝí»óÇ,
λÕÍ ³ñÅ»ùÝ»ñÇ Ë³ñ¹³ËáõÃÛ³ÝÁ ½áÑ ·Ý³óÇ,
àõÕ»ÕÇë ɳóÇÝ ³Ï³Ýç ã¹ñ»óÇ
§ºñç³ÝÇÏ ³í³ñïë¦ Ó³Ë Ó»éùáí ·ñ»óÇ: 
¸³í³×³Ý Ù³ñÙÇÝ, áõñÇß ÃÇñ³Ë ã·ï³±ñ ÇÝÓ³ÝÇó µ³óÇ:
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11. Disease

I was destroyed in soft, silvery dreams,
I became a victim of false values,
I ignored the cry of my brain,
And wrote off a happy ending with my left hand.
Treacherous body, why target me?
In ten years you’ll nail me to a wheelchair.
And the rain will no longer cool me,
And the sun will no longer warm me. 
I’ll realize how long I have left to write my last good song.
And when I understand, I’ll feel my only savior at my temple.
One shot, and I am no longer.
I was served a huge portion of grief,
When I was doomed to be buried within my living body.
When the rain no longer cooled me,
When the sun no longer warmed me.
And when I understood that no time remained to write my last good song,
I feel the rescue bullet at my temple.
One shot and I am no longer.
But there’s still a little time left, if only a second.
Shall I pull the trigger? Or wait and count the seconds?
Perhaps I shall turn out the lights and shoot with a smile?