Beogradski Sindikat - Dogodine u Prizrenu (Догодине у Призрену) versuri traducere în engleză

Next Year in Prizren

Where would I go if I didn’t know where we came from?
Where fields of peonies cover our graves.
Silent witnesses of centuries of great deeds.
Heroes who chose to perish on their feet.
Did they feed their bones to the fertile land
So that we today remain silent, while they take it from us by force?
It matters not if I am from Metohija or Dorcol.
How can my soul not hurt from the injustice?
In this battle airplanes are useless.
What matters are schoolbooks that tell us:
Who built the temple, who defiled the altar.
What deeds brought eternal honour, and what deeds brought shame.
Neither bombs, nor elections could erase Lazar.
And as long as the new generations preserve his memory
That which is sacred will never be lost.
Grow with hope, red flower, that someone will pluck you once more.
My compass is your root, the heart in my chest.
Without it, I am cursed, without Grace, living for money
And like a paper boat, sailing on a sea of lies
I only keep sinking…
 
You keep asking what Kosovo means to me.
You still don’t understand? I’ll explain again:
Kosovo is the seed I grew out of.
The spring and the trough from which my people started flowing.
Ill wishers tell us Kosovo is lost.
Disloyal and weak say Kosovo is done for,
Destroyed and burnt down by the cursed enemy.
It puzzles you that a kid from the city thinks about such things?
Since these days everyone just watches their own ass.
We live without faith, without hope, and without the will,
Building towers without foundation.
For a people without roots is a dried up river.
Without our mother, we are infants without milk.
But here, at the ancient place, where Milos gave his life,
Led by the justice of Lazar, the people will be resurrected.
For within us the prophecy lives on –
The Kosovo Oath will live forever.
So let us teach our children to know the full truth
And let our greeting be ‘Next year in Prizren!’.
 
And I pray
To return to my hearth
My soul will sanctify you
Oh holy land, bought from the Heavens
 
Oh Kosovo, Kosovo, my beloved land
You are the eagle in my sky, but your wings are broken.
My bitter tear, the emptiness in my chest.
The heart of my fatherland, the essence of my being…
Peonies have grown in the field, they sprang from the blood of fearless heroes
At the place where my land reaches up to the sky.
Our sovereign taught us what one should sacrifice for.
Lazar has bound us to Kosovo through myth and curse.
The Devil didn’t stop then, he kept sending evils –
Filthy enemies and scum – at what little was left of us.
Back then it was the Turks, now it’s hungry wolves.
Yesterday they impaled us on a stake, today they torture is in the ‘yellow house’.
And they won’t even let me see my frescoes,
For they will awaken memories of my proud ancestors.
They won’t let me hear the song of the monks from Decani,
So that the strength of the hero Milos doesn’t awaken in my heart.
I’ve seen that trickery countless times, and I know it well.
When they break our crosses and defile our Saint Vitus’ Day.
But it’s not the first time that we find ourselves fleeing and trekking,
And the peasant will always return to his field some day.
For we have died everywhere, and always for the sake of freedom
So that a hero’s child could call himself a Serb
Listen well, my son: Forgive even the worst person
But for the fatherland one must die
Kosovo is forever our land!
 
And I pray
To return to my hearth
My soul will sanctify you
Oh holy land, bought from the Heavens
May peonies resurrect
Our glory, next year in Prizren
 


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