lukanda propaganda

Issa tista 'tixtri l-album minn
Book Distributors Limited San Gwann
D'Amato 98/99 St John Street Valletta,
Cd Baby, iTunes, Amazon, Google Music Store,
24-7, GreatIndieMusic, Shazam,
Sound exchange u Tradebit

Il-Marċ ta’ Efrem Sammut
Għaliex
Poeżija
Il-Lukanda Propoganda
A tempo di Tango
Għallimni
It-Tfal ma jaħtu qatt
Ħudu gost
Il-funeral tal-lingwa Maltija
Victoria...


Il-Marċ ta’ Efrem Sammut


Mixħut mal-art, ġo boilersuit
Għandha l-kulur oranġjo u qed nistenna hawn mimdud
Il-ħin insieh, mhux ser ingawdih
Qalli għonqi se jħanxarli jekk nopponi jew nobdih

Liebes l-iswed, wiċċu mgħotti. Dal-kodard ma nafx min hu
Lili qatt mhu se jbeżżagħni, għalkemm marbut

Għax għandi l-Marċ ta’ Efrerm Sammut
Li ser nibqa’ nkanta f’qalbi u ’l dan indaħħlu jien ġol-but
Viva l-Marċ ta’ Efrerm Sammut
Nibqa’ nsaffru sakemm nitlaq, sakemm immut

Libbsuni stilla, sejħuli Lhudi
Kitbu numru twil fuq ġismi, ġo ħabs ġew isakkruni
Naħdem kuljum u niekol ftit
Lil marti, lil uliedi mhux se narahom fi xħin irrid

Qaluli ninża’ ħwejġi biex ninħasel mal-oħrajn
Wagner kien itarrax l-imnifsejn
Iżda lili dal-ħoss ma jagħmili xejn

Għax għandi l-Marċ ta’ Efrem Sammut
Li se nibqa’ nkanta f’qalbi sakemm bil-gass ninxef u mmut
Iva, għandi l-Marċ ta’ Efrem Sammut
Li se nibqa’ nsaffru f’qalbi u f’żaqq id-dud

Fil-5 ta’ Ġunju fl-1989
Kien hemm tankijiet tal-gwerra jirrumblaw ġewwa Beijing
Jiena mort quddiemhom u żfint dik iż-żifna tal-mejtin
Biex jindmu mit-traġedji għax kollha kemm huma midinbin
U b’kuraġġ għalaqt għajnejja, u b’ħanġra kbira

Kantajt il-Marċ ta’ Efrem Sammut
Seta’ jgħaddi trakk minn fuqi u jħallini hemm stendut
Viva l-Marċ ta’ Efrem Sammut
Li ser nibqa’ nsaffru f’qalbi u f’żaqq d-dud

Translation:
The March of Efrem Sammut

Sprawled on the ground, in an orange boilersuit
I lie here in waiting
Never mind the passing time, no way to spend it
He said he'll behead me whether I protest or obey

All in black, his face covered, no idea who this coward is
But he'll never frighten me, however tight these ropes may be

'Cause I have the March of Efrem Sammut
Which I'll sing on in my heart, and I'll get the better of this fool
Long live the March of Efrem Sammut
I'll go on whistling it until I droop

They pinned a star on me, called me a Jew
Wrote a long number on my body, locked me in a jail
I work every day and eat very little
I won't see my wife and children any time I choose

They told me to undress and wash with the others
Wagner could deafen your nostrils
But this sound does not budge me

'Cause I have the March of Efrem Sammut
Which I'll sing on in my heart for as long as the gas burns
Yes, I have the March of Efrem Sammut
I'll go on whistling it in my heart, and in the stomach of the worms

On 5th June 1989
War tanks rolled into Beijing
I stood in front of them and performed the dance of the dead
so they repent their tragedies for they are all sinners
and with courage I closed my eyes, and with all my lungs

I sang the March of Efrem Sammut
A tank could have crushed me and left me flat as a fern
Long live the March of Efrem Sammut
I'll go on whistling it in my heart, and in the stomach of the worms

Note:

Efrem Sammut is a character of a short story by Immanuel Mifsud, from the collection Stejjer li ma kellhomx jinkitbu (Stories that weren't supposed to be written). Mifsud is a prolific author of prose and poetry, widely considered as a leader of the current literary generation in Malta since around the year 2000. His novella In the Name of the Father was awarded the EU Prize for Literature in 2011.


Għaliex

 

Għaliex madwari hawn din id-dalma, għidli għaliex?
Minn tant nies f'did-dinja, fuqi ġiet għaliex?
Qed joqtluni dawn il-ħsibijiet, bejn mewt jew ħajja, għidli għaliex?

Għaliex inħossni nimxi waħdi tul il-moll.
Ir-rabta ma’ din l-art ta’ spiss nixtieq inħoll.
Itfu d-dawl u rażżnu l-kwiekeb, ma niflaħx nara dellijiet.

Għax biex wasalt li nirrakkonta dan il-ħsieb
għaddejt minn toroq sew mudlama u tlift il-ħbieb.
Forsi jekk inkun naf biex
ma nibqax insaqsi għaliex.

Għaliex int tlaqt? Għaliex jien bqajt?
X'jibqa’ minnek meta titlef dak li għandek u kulma temmen fih?
Għaliex erġajt lill-ħajja fdajt?
Ta’ kull darba nerġa’ nibda minn fejn bdejt u qatt ma nsib mistrieħ
U kull darba nsaqsi jien għaliex?

Ma nistax insib il-kuntentizza, għidli għaliex?
Qed nisħet l-għamla li ġejt fiha, għidli għaliex?
Bħat-tarbija li tissakkar ġewwa l-ġuf biex ma joħorġuhiex

U nisma’ s-skiet tal-ħemda jwerżaq ġol-widnejn,
bħal ajruplan li qed isuq u ma jafx għal fejn,
qisni tlift id-direzzjoni, bħal wieħed ma jarax.

Għax meta nara n-nies daħkana ta’ kuljum,
inħoss dir-rabja fija għax bħalhom mhux se nkun.
Tista’ tgħid li jien m’aħniex, ħa nispjegalek ftit għaliex.

Għaliex int tlaqt Għaliex jien bqajt
X'jibqa’ minnek meta titlef dak li għandek u kulma temmen fih?
Għaliex erġajt lill-ħajja fdajt
Ta’ kull darba nerġa’ nibda minn fejn bdejt u qatt ma nsib mistrieħ
U kull darba nsaqsi

Għaliex fl-imgħoddi qatt ma rajt dan li ġej bih
Qisu l-ħin kaxkarni niġri minn ġo fih
u l-ħolm li tnikker ġewwa fija tar mar-riħ
ġie u kisser l-elementi
issa qed inħossni indifferenti

Translation:
Why

Why this darkness around me, tell me, why?
Of all the people in the world, why did it fall on me?
These thoughts are killing me, between life and death, tell me, why?

For I feel I'm walking alone along the quay.
This bond with the land I often wish to untie.
Turn off the light, rein in the stars, I can't face any shadows.

For to reach here and put these thoughts into words
I travelled along dark roads, and lost friends on the way.
Perhaps if I knew how it happened
I'd no longer ask why.

Why did you leave? Why did I stay?
What remains of you after losing all you had, all you believed in?
Why did I trust in life again?
Each time, from where I'd set off, I start afresh
and I never find any rest
and each time I ask, why?

I cannot find happiness, tell me, why?
I curse the shape I was born into, tell me, why?
Like an infant locked in the womb, never to be pulled out...

I hear the silent stillness screeching in my ears,
like a plane flying to nowhere,
like a blind man, I've lost all direction.

For when you see people and their everyday laughter,
anger boils inside me, for like them I'll never be.
You could say I'm mad, let me tell you why.

Because you left, because I stayed
What remains of you after losing all you had, all you believed in?
Because I trusted in life again
Each time, from where I'd set off, I start afresh
and I never find any rest
and each time I ask...

Why didn't I see this coming in the past
as if time swiftly dragged me into it
and the dreams postponed inside me
were blown away with the wind,
the wind that came to tear up the elements
leaving me indifferent.

Why did you leave? Why did I stay?
What remains of you after losing all you had, all you believed in?
Why did I trust in life again?
Each time, from where I'd set off, I start afresh
and I never find any rest
and each time I ask, why?


Poeżija

 

Kultant immur fuq vjaġġ fejn nara l-għeġubijiet
Fuq ferroviji twal isuqu bil-mijiet
Għarajjes lambranzetta jħarsu f’għajnejn xulxin
Qisha l-ħajja nbidlet f’daqqa, qisha l-ħajja bdiet dal-ħin. Bdiet dal-ħin

Kultant immur fuq vjaġġ fejn nara affarijiet sbieħ
Fuq bank hemm missier u iben, u fuq bank hemm ġuvni u xiħ
Minn djarju ta’ żmien il-gwerra ntirtet din l-istorja
Sakemm it-tifel isir missier, u l-missier isir memorja

Erġa’ lura d-dar, erġa’ lura, ibqa’ miegħi
Fejn l-ikreh ħsieb jinbidel, isir dija
Ibqa’ miegħi, poeżija

Kultant immur fuq vjaġġ u niltaqa’ ma’ nies bl-għarfien
Bħal dak li pprova jgħodd kemm itir jiġri d-dubbien
U dak li ra mrammtu titmermer u ssir ramel
kien bnieha fuq it-tafal iżda ħaseb li kien ġebel

Erġa’ lura d-dar, erġa’ lura, ibqa’ miegħi
Fejn l-ikreh ħsieb jinbidel, isir dija
Ibqa’ miegħi, poeżija

Kultant immur fuq vjaġġ ġo dal-pajsaġġi sbieħ Maltin
Qalb il-karba fil-ħarrub u l-awrikarji mqanqlin
Nixrob ftit minn Għajn Riħana biex zagħzugħ nibqa’ ta’ dejjem
U bil-karba ta’ kitarra d-deżert ninsieh
U bil-karba ta’ kitarra dan il-vjaġġ nerġa’ nibdieh

Translation:
Poetry

Now and again I travel and see wonders
on long fast trains
huddled lovers looking into each other's eyes
as if life suddenly changed, as if life has just begun. Just begun

Now and again I travel and see delightful things
on this bench a father and son, on that bench a lad and an old man
This story was passed on in a wartime diary
until the boy became a father, and the father a memory

Come back home, come back, stay with me
with you the darkest thought turns to sunlight
poetry, stay with me

Now and again I travel and meet knowledgeable people
like the one who tried to time flies,
and the one who saw his unfinished home give way
and crumble into sand, built not on rock, but loose clay

Come back home, come back, stay with me
with you the darkest thought turns to sunlight
poetry, stay with me

Now and again I travel through these beautiful Maltese landscapes
amid the lament of the carobs and the shuddering pines
I drink from Għajn Riħana to remain forever young
and with the weeping guitar I forget the desert
and with the weeping guitar I begin this journey again

 

Notes:

The “wartime diary” refers to a short novel by Immanuel Mifsud, “In the Name of the Father”, an autobiographical account and treatise on fatherhood. The book was awarded the EU Prize for Literature in 2011.

“tried to time flies” is a reference to a joke at the start of Peter Serracino Inglott's short book Peopled Silence, on the philosophy of language. Somebody says: “Time flies", to which somebody else replies: "I can't. They're too fast".

“the one who saw his unfinished home give way...” refers to famous lines from Pietru Caxaru's Kantilena, the oldest known literary text in the Maltese language, from around 1470.

The final stanza weaves together images from other famous Maltese poems, by Anton Buttiġieġ, Ġorġ Zammit, Dun Karm and Achille Mizzi. Għajn Riħana, a valley near Saint Paul's Bay, literally means 'the spring of myrtle'.


Il-Lukanda Propoganda


Ġol-Lukanda Propaganda hemm reception ferm antik
Fejn il-merħla tista’ tpoġġi biex tivvota lil min trid
Ikun hemm alkoħol bla rażan u l-pastizzi kollha żejt
Biex il-poplu żgur jiffanga sakemm jaqla’ fuq il-bejt

Il-ħuta belgħet il-lixka
U wara kilitha Marushka
Li ħelset minnha wara l-ikel
U l-lixka kielet dan iż-żibel

Lukanda Propaganda
Fejn ħadd mhu ser jiskandla
Għax dlonk tkun lesta li tidħol il-banda
Ġol-Lukanda Propaganda

Ġol-Lukanda Propaganda hemm dal-waiter ferm pulit
Liebes l-abjad, bil-mustaċċi, xogħlu jservi biss l-inbid
Jekk jispiċċa l-flixkun arah ġej dal-mustaċċun
L-inbid aħmar iferragħlek b'dik il-ħarsa ta’ brikkun

Għax fil-maħżen għandu sptar tad-demm
li fih xi nies impriġunati hemm
U għalkemm l-inbid mill-għenba ġej u mhux min-nemel
f’dal-każ l-għenba qed tinxtorob u ssir demel

Fil-Lukanda Propaganda
Qed tipprietka x-xadina fuq il-bandla
Fuq il-palk hemm Brahms imexxi dil-banda
Ġol-Lukanda Propaganda

Anki l-lift fih televiżjoni
bil-bijografija tal-GM
Jekk trid tara film tal-azzjoni
Isa fittex il-canvasser
Għidlu naqra int xi trid
U persważ li dan jifrixlek it-tapit

Ġol-Lukanda Propaganda tista’ tgħum ġos-swimming pool
Jekk int lest li tieħu stessu mal-ministru mhux fit-tul
il-vjaġġ li għandna sakemm nirbħu, sakemm inwebblu lil kulħadd
li l-karrotta tagħna akbar, li dil-karrotta mhux tal-landa

Bħal-Lukanda Propaganda
Fejn in-nisa jilagħbuhom tombla
U d-dada tfuħ aktar mir-randa
Ġol-Lukanda Propaganda

Lukanda Propaganda
Fejn ħadd mhu ser jiskandla
Fuq il-palk hemm Brahms mal-banda
Ġol-Lukanda Propaganda

Notes:

a. Lukanda Propaganda - - - - * skandla. FOOTNOTE: Kris: “Ġeneralment nużaw il-verb tiskandalizza, imma tiskandla jien niftakarha użata fi tfuliti l-Kottonera. Wara li rajtha użata f’filmat fuq l-internet dwar ġlieda fir-regatta u wara l-insistenza ta’ Michael Spagnol biex inżommha, ikkonvinċejt ruħi li nħalli dan il-verb fil-lirika.

Translation:
Lukanda Propaganda

At Lukanda Propaganda there's a time-worn reception
where the herd can sit back and vote for whom they wish
there's alcohol on tap and pastizzi dripping with oil
for the masses to tuck in until they puke on the roof

The fish swallowed the bait
then Marushka ate the fish,
after she disposed of it
another bait ate the remains

Lukanda Propaganda
where no one will make a fuss
for the band will soon be ready to play
at Lukanda Propaganda

At Lukanda Propaganda there's a waiter neatly-dressed
in white, full moustache, his only job to serve wine
when the bottle finishes, see him cunningly return
to pour you red wine with a sly look on his face

For in the cellar there's a hospital of blood
with people trapped inside,
the blood is bottled, brought up to the hotel
and served to the guests as wine

At Lukanda Propaganda
the monkey gives sermons from the swing
Brahms leads the band on the stage
at Lukanda Propaganda

Even the lift has a tv
showing the GM's biography
if you want to see an action film
go find the canvasser
tell him what you desire
and I'm sure he'll roll out the red carpet

At Lukanda Propaganda you can swim in the pool
so long as you're ready to take a quick selfie with the minister
not long now till we're victorious, till we've convinced everyone
that our carrot is bigger, and it's not from a tin

Just like at Lukanda Propaganda
where women are bingo chips
and the dice smells like bay leaves
at Lukanda Propaganda

Lukanda Propaganda
where no one will make a fuss
Brahms leads the band on the stage
at Lukanda Propaganda

 

Notes:

pastizzi are diamond-shaped pastries, traditionally filled with ricotta cheese or mushed peas. A very popular albeit unhealthy street food eaten year-round.

GM, general manager, though it could also be a reference to ministerial cars with 'GM' (Maltese Government) number plates.


A tempo di Tango

 

Ix-xafra mal-għajnejn, il-qamar jiddi sħiħ
U minn ġo jdejja toħroġ il-flotta tan-nemel
L-istampa bla kulur, bla abbużi tal-verbal
Ma hawn l-ebda indikazzjoni ta’ xi rrid ngħid biha

U waqt li s-saċerdot li jixbah lil Dalí
Inkaxkru tul il-Birgu sa Sant’Anġlu
Jaqbadni aptit kbir li niżfen ġol-palazz
Dat-tango li qed nikteb hawn fuq pitazz

Illum kulħadd għalih, maż-żrara m'hemmx asfalt
Mal-pumi m’hemmx il-bieb, mas-sess m'hemmx il-kuntatt
In-noti tal-azzar, il-pniezel kull kulur dawn tilfu l-gwerra
Kontra l-eżistenzjaliżmu

Il-poplu jieħu gost bi skoss ta’ terremot
Bil-mewt ta’ xi artist li darba bieshom
Kissirtu l-monument, kien ilkom moħħkom fih
Fil-verità dil-mera mhux se tinbiegħ

It-tokki tal-arloġġ, iħabbtu tango sod
tista’ tmur ’il bogħod iżda għalxejn qed tistaħba
Għax fina għandna bomba li se tisplodi ma’ għeluq iż-żmien

Il-korda ma taqbilx mat-taraġ tal-irħam
Mal-libsa tal-għarusa u l-kejk bla togħma
Mal-festivals tan-nejk mhix kompetittiva
Mal-marċi ta’ filgħodu hi tiżfen fis-sakra

Bħall-għexieren ta’ tfajliet li ħarġu minn ġol-ħabs
Għax kienu jpoġġu siġġu ġo Strada Stretta
Illum kulħadd għalih, illum kulħadd filosfu
Illum kulħadd jaf kollox u fuq kulħadd

L-armata żarmat mir-rwol li ġiet fdata
Issa bl-indulġenzi taf ittir
Bis-sikkina bejn snieni noħroġ niżfen dan it-tango
Taħt il-kwiekeb
Joħorġu stalletti kollha dmugħ

U dawn il-ħsibijiet ta’ abort inkontestat
Tal-qabar ġol-kexxun u t-tfal ġewwa l-kantina
Nixtieq inkun l-eroj, nixtieq inkun villan
Jew anki kummidjant, nixtieq inkun profeta

Nixtieq ikolli ċ-ċans nisplodi kullimkien
U neħles minn dawn in n-nies li ma għandhomx fidi.
Il-fidi għall-artist, l-artist li mhux imbagħbas
Mill-ħtieġa li jrid jogħġbok jew jedukak

It-tokki tal-arloġġ, iħabbtu tango sod
Għax tista’ tmur ’il bogħod iżda għalxejn qed tistaħba
Għax fina għandna bomba li se tisplodi ma’ għeluq iż-żmien

U għal dawk li ma fehmux, u għal dawk li mhux se jifhmu
Għal dawk li moħħhom biss biex jiżfnu t-tango
Illum kulħadd għalih, illum kulħadd Messija
U l-bomba dejjem tersaq lejn għeluq iż-żmien.

Translation:
A tempo di Tango

The blade across the eyeballs, the bright full moon
and a fleet of ants charging out of my hands
a black-and-white image, no abuse of words
and no indication of what I might mean

And whilst I drag the priest who looks like Dalí
through Vittoriosa all the way to Saint Angelo
I get this urge to dance in the palace
to this tango I'm now writing in this notebook

Each to his own today, no asphalt, only gravel
no doors attached to the knobs, sex but no touching
notes of steel, paintbrushes of all colours,
they've lost the war against existentialism

The crowd gets a thrill from an earthquake
from the death of an artist who once kissed them
you've destroyed the monument, as you planned for so long
in reality this mirror will not be sold

The chimes of the clock beat a solid tango
you can travel as far as you wish, it's no use hiding
for there's a bomb inside us
and it will explode when time runs out

The chord doesn't fit the marble stairs
nor the bride's dress, nor the tasteless cake
it can't compete with the crappy festivals
it dances drunk to the morning marches

Like the dozens of damsels that came out of prison
where they'd ended up after setting their chairs in Strait Street
today each to his own, today everyone's a philosopher
today everyone knows everything about everyone

The army shed the role it had been trusted with
now they can fly with indulgencies
With a knife between my teeth I dance to this tango
under the stars
daggers full of tears appear

And these thoughts of undisputed abortion
of tombs in the drawer, of children in the basement
I'd like to be the hero, I'd like to be the villain
or maybe a comedian, or perhaps a prophet

I wish I had the chance to explode all around
and get rid of all these people who have no faith
Faith in artists, artists not corrupted
by the need to please you or instruct

The chimes of the clock beat a solid tango
you can travel as far as you wish, it's no use hiding
for there's a bomb inside us
and it will explode when time runs out

And for those who didn't understand, and for those who won't
for those whose only wish is to dance this tango
today each to his own, today we're all Messiahs
and this bomb ticks on towards its time

 

Notes:

Vittoriosa (il-Birgu in Maltese) is one of the 'three cities' of Cottonera, across the Grand Harbour from Valletta, built within the fortress of Saint Angelo.

Strait Street is a long narrow street in Valletta, a thriving hive of drinking and prostitution during British rule.

The tango, and the knife between my teeth..., are references to a well-known poem by Maltese modernist author Achille Mizzi:
http://achillemizzi.com/wp/?p=107


Għallimni

 

Meta nitlef il-kuraġġ, għallimni.
Meta ngħix mingħajr raġuni, għallimni.
Meta l-kotba jkunu vojta, bla kliem, għallimni.

Jekk kelmti ma nżommhiex, aħfirli.
Jekk ta’ spiss inkun diffiċli, aħfirli.
Jekk m’iniex ir-raġel li int dejjem xtaqt li nkun, aħfirli.

Għallimni ngħix u għallimni nħobbok.
Għallimni ngħożżok ta’ kuljum.
Għalimni ngawdi l-mumenti sbieħ,
Neħilsek mill-uġigħ.

Meta ngħidlek li jien ċert, għallimni.
Meta s-somom ma jaqblux, għallimni.
Meta nħossni xi eroj u ngħid li ħadd mhu se jirbaħli, għallimni.

Għallimni ngħix u għallimni nħobbok.
Għallimni ngħożżok ta’ kuljum.
Għallimni nagħraf dak li jonqsok, dak li trid,
Nitwieled bniedem ġdid.

Għallimni ngħix u għallimni nħobbok.
Għallimni ngħożżok ta’ kuljum.
Għalimni ngawdi dal-mumenti sbieħ.
Għallimni ntir mar-riħ.

Jekk iż-żerriegħa ma qabditx, aħfirli.
Jekk inqastek bla ma naf, aħfirli.
Biex inkun bħalek għandi bżonnok hawn illum ħa tgħallimni.

Translation:
Teach me

When I lose courage, teach me.
When I have no reason to live, teach me.
When the books are empty, wordless, teach me.

If I don't keep my word, forgive me.
If I'm often difficult, forgive me.
If I'm not the man you always wanted me to be, forgive me.

Teach me to live, teach me to love you.
Teach me to cherish you each day.
Teach me to enjoy beautiful moments,
to free you from pain.

When I tell you I'm certain, teach me.
When the sums don't add up, teach me.
When I feel like a hero and say no one will beat me, teach me.

Teach me to live, teach me to love you.
Teach me to cherish you each day.
Teach me to see what you're missing, what you desire,
to be born a new man.

Teach me to live, teach me to love you.
Teach me to cherish you each day.
Teach me to enjoy these beautiful moments.
Teach me to fly with the wind.

If the seed did not sprout, forgive me.
If I let you down without realizing it, forgive me.
To be like you, I need you here today to teach me.


It-Tfal ma jaħtu qatt


It-tfal ma jaħtu qatt.
M’għandhomx isiru kbar qabel il-waqt.
It-tfal mhux ġugarell
li tlibbishom bħal adult ġo xi burdell.
Meta l-għenba ssir qabel iż-żmien
hemm ċans li l-inbid jaqta’ u jmur”.

It-tfal ma jinbidlux.
Dak li se tagħmlilhom issa ma jinsewhx.
It-tfal ma jaħfru qatt.
Jekk tipprova tieħu minnhom dak li qatt ma ħadt,
meta l-ħsieb isir memorja,
in-norma tista’ tbiddel il-valur.

It-tfal ma jaħtu qatt.
Mhux huma jagħżlu d-dar.
It-tfal ma jaħtu qatt.

Jekk ma tridx irbit,
it-tfal ma jaħtu qatt.
Xi darba konna żgħar
u nafu t-tfal xi jridu.

Ġnien li jfuħ u kollu lwien.
Xi dar tal-ħelu u ħbieb bl-addoċċ
jilagħbu mingħajr il-ħsieb li jweġġgħu.

Passju, il-ħarba, dawra durella.
Bumm bumm il-bieb onġi onġella.
It-tfal ma jaħtu qatt.

It-tfal ma jobogħdux
speċjalment lil dawk ta’ ġewwa ma jistkerrhux.
It-tfal ma jistaqsux
jekk dak li l-ġenituri jagħmlu ma jifhmux.

Issa l-gwerra bdiet.
Dat-tfal mixħutin fl-art kollha mwerwrin.
Wieħed minnhom jinsab waħdu
għax tal-familja kollha mejtin.
Waqt li qed jgħannaq l-indipendenza
qed nisma’ l-karba tiegħu mir-ritratt.

It-tfal ma jaħtu qatt.
Mhux huma għażlu d-dar.
It-tfal ma jaħtu qatt.

Int min int
it-tfal ma jaħtu qatt.
Xi darba konna żgħar
u nafu t-tfal xi jridu.

Xi kastell tar-ramel fejn il-baħar.
Xi ġelat li minn ġo fih joħroġ ġugarell b’sorpriża.

Li jqattgħu ħin ma’ dawk li jħobbu
jipproteġuhom minn dak il-mostru
Li hemm ġewwa l-kantina.

Li ħadd ma jgħajjat magħhom, li ħadd ma jmut, li ħadd ma jimrad.
Li ġol-iskola jkunu talikwali, bħal kulħadd
Li l-kulur tal-ġilda ma jitkellimx aktar mil-lingwa.
Li jieqfu l-gwerer, li jieqfu l-gwerer.

Li dawk li m’għandhomx x’jieklu jkollhom borża kollha ħelu.
Li dawk li ma jimxux jitgħallmu jtiru bħall-għasafar.
Li jieqfu l-gwerer, li jieqfu l-gwerer.

Li r-ragħad u s-sajjetti jersqu ’l hemm, ’il bogħod mid-dar.
Li nieqfu nħammġu t-triq u l-annimal nibżgħu għalih.
Li teżisti s-saħħara li se twaqqaf dan il-ġlied kollu
u li jieqfu l-gwerer, li jieqfu l-gwerer 
u li jieqfu l-gwerer, jieqfu l-gwerer.

Passju, il-ħarba, dawra durella.
Bumm bumm il-bieb onġi onġella.

Translation:
Children are never to blame

Children are never to blame.
They should never grow up before their time.
Children are not toys
you can dress up as adults in a brothel.
When grapes ripen too early
the wine will probably turn sour.

Children do not change.
What you teach them now, they won't forget.
Children never forgive.
If you try to take from them what you've never had,
when thoughts turn to memories,
norms can change values.

Children are never to blame.
They do not choose their home.
Children are never to blame.

If you don't wish to be tied down,
children are never to blame.
Once we were small,
and we know what children want.

A fragrant garden, full of colours.
A house of sweets, friends all around
playing without worrying about getting hurt.

Passju, il-ħarba, dawra durella.
Bumm bumm il-bieb, onġi onġella.
Children are never to blame.

Children do not hate,
especially not those closest to them.
Children do not ask questions
when they don't understand their parents.

Now the war has begun.
These children sprawled on the ground,
shivering with fear.
One of them is alone,
his entire family dead.
As he hugs Independence,
I can hear him wailing through a photograph.

Children are never to blame.
They do not choose their home.
Children are never to blame.

No matter who you are,
children are never to blame.
Once we were small,
and we know what children want.

A sandcastle by the sea.
An ice-cream with a surprise toy.

To spend time with those they love,
with those who protect them from that monster
down there in the basement.

To not be screamed at, for no one to die, no one to fall sick.
To be themselves at school, equal to everyone else.
For skin colour not to be louder than language.
For wars to end, for wars to end.
For the starving to be given a bag of sweets.
For those who can't walk to learn to fly like birds.
For wars to end, for wars to end.

For thunder and lightning to move on, far from home.
For us to stop soiling the streets, and to take care of animals.
For a sorceress to come and stop all this fighting,
for wars to end, for wars to end,
for wars to end, for wars to end.

Passju, il-ħarba, dawra durella.
Bumm bumm il-bieb, onġi onġella.

 

Notes:

Passju: hopscotch.
Il-ħarba: a variation of hide-and-seek.
Dawra durella: a rough equivalent of ring-a-ring-a-roses.
Bumm bumm il-bieb: knock knock, from a Maltese nursery rhyme.
Onġi (onġi) onġella: from the same Maltese nursery rhyme, about an ambassador coming to pick up (or purchase) a young girl.


Ħudu gost


Ħudu gost tgħixu flimkien titkellmu fuq dak li sar, li kien. Ħudu gost
Ħudu gost tissoċjalizzaw, tinħbew wara l-kordi vokali, kemm jagħmlu ħoss
Ħudu gost tilagħbu max-xitan li qatel lilu nnifsu għax ma kienx ferħan. Ħudu gost

Ħudu gost tfittxu ’l xulxin, tippużaw għal xi stessu biex jgħaddi l-ħin. Ħudu gost
Ħudu gost tinstabtu mal-art, tixorbu sakemm jaħkimkom il-mard. Ħudu gost
Ħudu gost titbagħbsu b’idejn maħmuġin, tfittxu lil Alla u tużawh ħażin. Ħudu gost

Issa ejja ’l hawn ħalli ġismek jintelaq
Ejja ’l hawn ħa nitwieled mill-ġdid
Ejja ’l hawn ħa tkun taf x’jiġifieri
Billejl u binhar jien tiegħek is-Sid
Ejja ’l hawn fejn qed taħseb li sejra?
Ejja ’l hawn għamel dak li ngħid jien
Ejja ’l hawn ħa tnessini l-qdusija
Il-kullar ilbsu int waqt li qegħdin flimkien
Ejja ’l hawn… nerfgħu qlubna fil-għoli
Ejja ’l hawn fl-għoli tas-smewwiet
Ejja ’l hawn għax għajjejt inkun xogħli
Ejja ’l hawn tibkix xortik
Ejja ’l hawn mhux se jisgħobbik

Ħudu gost titkellmu oxxen, il-kelma hija t-triq li ser toħodkom l-infern. Ħudu gost
Ħudu gost tinħaslu fil-flus, qiskom ħniezer titkissru biex tiftħu l-karus. Ħudu gost
Ħudu gost tindafru fil-libertà ’l bogħod minn dal-vot tal-kastità. Ħudu gost

Ħudu gost tilagħbu man-nar, bi dnubietkom issallbu l-fidi b’musmar. Ħudu gost
Ħudu gost tingħaqdu fiż-żwieġ, biex uliedkom jittieklu mal-kejk tat-tieġ. Ħudu gost
Ħudu gost għax tistgħu tinnamraw u fil-ħajja eterna tiddubitaw. Ħudu gost

Translation:
Have fun

Have fun living together, talking about what happened, what has been. Have fun
Have fun socialising, hiding behind vocal chords, how noisy they are
Have fun playing with the devil that killed himself out of sadness. Have fun

Have fun seeking each other, posing for selfies to pass the time. Have fun
Have fun hitting the ground, drinking until you're crushed with sickness. Have fun
Have fun touching each other up with dirty hands, seeking God and using him wrongly. Have fun

Now come over here and let your body go
Come over here so I can be born again
Come over here so you know what this means
Night and day I am your Lord
Come over here, where do you think you're going?
Come over here, do what I tell you
Come over here and make me forget my holiness
You can wear the collar whilst we're together
Come over here... we raise our hearts
Come over here up in the heavens
Come over here, I'm tired of being my job
Come over here, weep not your fate
Come over here, you will not regret it

Have fun talking dirty, words are the road to hell. Have fun
Have fun laundering money, you're like hogs fighting to open the piggy bank. Have fun
Have fun losing yourselves in freedom, far from this vote of chastity. Have fun

Have fun playing with fire, you crucify your faith with your sins. Have fun
Have fun joining hands in marriage, for your children to be eaten with the wedding cake. Have fun
Have fun for you can engage in love and doubt eternal life. Have fun


Victoria ...


Irkibt fuq demmek aħmar u żortlok l-intern
Fuq bus stop nistenna n-numru li jwassalni fl-infern
Il-vini mqabbżin, żewġ sulari għoljin
Arkati tal-għadam li tmermru tul is-snin

L-irġiel skjerati ġo kamra jarmu x-xorb li xorbu
B'id waħda mal-ħajt jimmiraw lejn fejn ma hemmx introjtu
Warajhom suldati Marxisti jippuntaw l-ixkubetti
Biex il-fdalijiet tagħhom isiru l-ikel tal-kaporali u tal-insetti

Victoria int salvajtni, int ħlejtni u vvalenajtni
Victoria ġibt il-flus iżda lili umiljajtni
Victoria għammidtni ġox-xmara u l-ħajja erġajt tajtni
Għax Victoria mixgħula binhar, u Victoria dejjem tixgħel billejl
Hail Victoria, Hail Victoria

U int tidħaq b'idejk quddiem ħalqek u b'għajnejk żoroq
Waqt li l-poplu jħambaq ħsibijietu ġo dal-ħmieġ ta’ toroq
Dik il-libsa fjurita, nixtieq inħollha mill-friegħi
Għax il-ġilda tiegħek tixgħel ġol-abbiss tal-perverżjonijiet tiegħi

Victoria int salvajtni, int ħlejtni u vvalenajtni
Victoria ħadt il-flus iżda wara umiljajtni
Victoria għammidtni ġo xmara sakemm bl-ilma xebbajtni
Victoria titqaħħab binhar, u Victoria mhux ser tieqaf billejl
Hail Victoria, Hail Victoria

Victoria, Victoria fil-ħolm sikwit tiġri warajja
Victoria, Victoria, min xeba’ minnek tista’ tgħid li xeba’ mill-ħajja

Translation:
Victoria...

I climbed onto your red blood, visited your insides
At a bus stop I await the number that will take me to hell
Veins sticking out, two storeys high
Arches of bone decayed with the years

Men lined up in a room, throwing up their drinks
with one hand against the wall, aiming for a place with no income
Behind them Marxist soldiers aiming their rifles
so that their remains become food for the corporals and insects

Victoria you saved me, wasted me, poisoned me
Victoria I got the money but you humiliated me
Victoria you baptised me in the river, brought me to life again
for Victoria is alight by day, alight by night
Hail Victoria, Hail Victoria

And you laugh with your hands on your mouth and your blue eyes
whilst the people bay out their thoughts in these dirt-laden streets
That flowery dress, I'd like to untie it from the branches
for your skin lights up in the abyss of my perversions

Victoria you saved me, wasted me, poisoned me
Victoria I got the money, but after you humiliated me
Victoria you baptised me in the river till I had enough of the water
Victoria you sell your body by day, Victoria you won't stop at night
Hail Victoria, Hail Victoria

Victoria, Victoria you eternally haunt me in dreams

Victoria, Victoria, when a man is tired of you he is tired of life