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Music

Wherever you look
There are people making music
Often, it's sold as something it really is not
 
But then it's wrapped up nicely
With some lights on top
And it's shipped as an escape into paradise
 
It's not the light, not the gloss
It's not the show what music is about
Like the wind, like a dream
It's supposed to be the language of imagination and freedom
 
The language that we talk in
Is by no means enough
To tell somebody else what you feel
 
That's why we've invented music
It'll never by anything else
All the commotion surrounding it will make me crazy one day
 
It's not the light, not the gloss
It's not the show what music is about
Like the wind, like a dream
It's supposed to be the language of imagination and freedom
 
It's not the light, not the gloss
It's not the show what music is about
Like the wind, like a dream
It's supposed to be the language of imagination and freedom
 

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Fingers

Fingers in my hand
while moving
 
touches a guitar to wipe away sorrow
they give songs
 
Fingers in my hand
possesses music
 
If I'm singing
they play along
fingers in my hand
 
Even if there is a dead nail
it will strum along
it offers hymn from the heart
 
(Interlude)
 
Even if there is a dead nail
it will strum along
it offers hymn from the heart
 
Even if there is a dead nail
it will strum along
fingers in my hand
 

Your love taught me

Versions: #2
Your love taught me to grieve
and I have been in need, for centuries
a woman to make me grieve
for a woman, to cry upon her arms
like a sparrow
for a woman to gather my pieces
like shards of broken crystal
Your love has taught me, my lady, the worst habits
it has taught me to read my coffee cups
thousands of times a night
to experiment with alchemy,
to visit fortune tellers
It has taught me to leave my house
to comb the sidewalks
and search your face in raindrops
and in car lights
and to peruse your clothes
in the clothes of unknowns
and to search for your image
even…..even…..
even in the posters of advertisements
your love has taught me
to wander around, for hours
searching for a gypsies hair
that all gypsies women will envy
searching for a face, for a voice
which is all the faces and all the voices…
Your love entered me…my lady
into the cities of sadness
and I before you, never entered
The cities of sadness
I did not know…
that tears are the person
that a person without sadness
is only a shadow of a person…
Your love taught me
to behave like a boy
to draw your face with chalk
upon the wall
upon the sails of fishermen's boats
on the Church bells, on the crucifixes,
your love taught me, how love,
changes the map of time…
Your love taught me, that when I love
the earth stops revolving,
Your love taught me things
that were never accounted for
So I read children's fairytales
I entered the castles of Jennies
and I dreamt that she would marry me
The Sultan's daughter
those eyes…
clearer than the water of a lagoon
those lips…
more desirable than the flower of pomegranates
and I dreamt that I would kidnap her like a knight
and I dreamt that I would give
her necklaces of pearl and coral
Your love taught me, my lady,
what is insanity
it taught me…how life may pass
without the Sultan's daughter arriving
Your love taught me
How to love you in all things
in a bare winter tree,
in dry yellow leaves
in the rain, in a tempest,
in the smallest cafe, we drank in,
in the evenings…our black coffee
Your love taught me…to seek refuge
to seek refuge in hotels without names
in churches without names…
in cafes without names…
Your love taught me…how the night
swells the sadness of strangers
It taught me…how to see Beirut
as a woman…a tyrant of temptation
as a woman, wearing every evening
the most beautiful clothing she possesses
and sprinkling upon her breasts perfume
for the fisherman, and the princes
Your love taught me how to cry without crying
It taught me how sadness sleeps
Like a boy with his feet cut off
in the streets of the Rouche and the Hamra
Your love taught me to grieve
and I have been needing, for centuries
a woman to make me grieve
for a woman, to cry upon her arms
like a sparrow
for a woman to gather my pieces
like shards of broken crystal
 

Sun, Thunder, Daugava

The Sun placed Latvia
There, where the ends meet
White sea, green earth
Latvia had the key to the gate.
 
Latvia had the key to the gate,
Protector of the river Daugava
Strangers broke the gate
Into the sea fell the key.
 
The Thunder* threw bolts of lightning,
From the devils he took the key.
Latvia locked in death, life,
The white sea, the green earth.
 
The Sun placed Latvia
On the shore of the white sea
Winds stirred up the sand
What will Latvia’s children drink?
 
The Sun told God
To dig the Daugava.
Animals dug, God poured
From a cloud the water of life.
 
The water of life, the water of death
Flowed together in the Daugava.
I dip in a fingertip
I feel both in my soul.
 
The water of death, the water of life
I feel both in my soul.
 
The Sun is our mother
The Daugava is the nanny of our pains.
The Thunder, who delivered a blow to the devil
He is our father.
 

Mists of the Early Morning

The night has been overlong
And it's dawning; none too soon.
Before the morning can come
There should be a late night.
 
I can hear the fountain singing
On the wet stones...
In the peacefulness of my wilderness
It is dawning; none too soon!
 
Mists of the early morning,
They are water to me:
They are a mirror in which the soul
Sees itself,
As it runs
Across the garden.
 
I can hear the fountain singing
On the wet stones...
In the peacefulness of my wilderness
It is dawning; none too soon!
 
The night has been overlong,
(But) the dawn is right over there.
Before the morning can come
There should be a late night.
 
Mists of the early morning,
They are water to me:
They are a mirror in which the soul
Sees itself,
As it runs
Across the garden.
 
The night has been overlong
And it's dawning; none too soon.
Before the morning can come
There should be a late night.