Sellers of Flowers. Создание перевода песни

Оригинальное название

Переведенное название

The sellers of flowers

Buy up old roses

They pull off dead petals

Like old heads of lettuce

And sell ’em as new ones

For cheaper and fairer

But they die by the morning

So who is the winner?

 

Not the roses

Not the buyers

Not the sellers

Maybe winter

 

Cause winter is coming

Soon after summer

It runs faster, faster

Chasing off Autumn

We go from a warm sun to only a white sun

We go from a large sun to only a small one

 

When I was a small girl I walked through the market

Holding my dad’s hand, mitten in gloved hand

At night there were roses lit up in glass boxes

The heat-lamps would keep them from freezing in winter

 

We never bought them but somebody must have

Maybe they made it or maybe they froze up

Before any person had put them in water

And hoped that they’d still be alive by the morning

 

Who’s the winner?

Not the roses

Not the buyers

Not the sellers

 

Not the tellers

Of these stories

Not the fathers

Not their children

 

Not those waking

On a dark night

Through a memory

They’re forgetting

Who’s the winner? Who’s the winner?

Maybe winter, maybe winter

 

Somebody steps on a light through a tunnel

They’re holding a piece of their mind in the rubble

Hold on I won’t let go

I want to know

 

But no one lives long enough

To see the outcome

To know any answers

To know what the point is

To know if the winter

Ever came closer

Than on that night

When I walked with my father

 

A small piece of ice

Lodged in my mind

Lodged in my thoughts, lodged in my eyes

Cold all around, cold all around

Warm from inside, warm from inside

 

Who’s the winner?

Not the roses

Not the buyers

Not the sellers

 

Not the tellers

Of these stories

Not the fathers

Not their children

 

Who’s the winner?

Not the roses

Not the buyers

Not the sellers

 

Not the tellers

Of these stories

Not the fathers

Not their children

 

Not those walking

On a dark night

Through a memory

They’re forgetting

 

Who’s the winner? Who’s the winner?

Maybe winter, maybe winter

Оригинальный текст The sellers of flowers Buy up old roses They pull off dead petals Like old heads of lettuce And sell ’em as new ones For cheaper and fairer But they die by the morning So who is the winner? Not the roses Not the buyers Not the sellers Maybe winter Cause winter is coming Soon after summer It runs faster, faster Chasing off Autumn We go from a warm sun to only a white sun We go from a large sun to only a small one When I was a small girl I walked through the market Holding my dad’s hand, mitten in gloved hand At night there were roses lit up in glass boxes The heat-lamps would keep them from freezing in winter We never bought them but somebody must have Maybe they made it or maybe they froze up Before any person had put them in water And hoped that they’d still be alive by the morning Who’s the winner? Not the roses Not the buyers Not the sellers Not the tellers Of these stories Not the fathers Not their children Not those waking On a dark night Through a memory They’re forgetting Who’s the winner? Who’s the winner? Maybe winter, maybe winter Somebody steps on a light through a tunnel They’re holding a piece of their mind in the rubble Hold on I won’t let go I want to know But no one lives long enough To see the outcome To know any answers To know what the point is To know if the winter Ever came closer Than on that night When I walked with my father A small piece of ice Lodged in my mind Lodged in my thoughts, lodged in my eyes Cold all around, cold all around Warm from inside, warm from inside Who’s the winner? Not the roses Not the buyers Not the sellers Not the tellers Of these stories Not the fathers Not their children Who’s the winner? Not the roses Not the buyers Not the sellers Not the tellers Of these stories Not the fathers Not their children Not those walking On a dark night Through a memory They’re forgetting Who’s the winner? Who’s the winner? Maybe winter, maybe winter Данные этого поля не сохраняются

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