han3nah

"Od Muzyki piękniejsza jest tylko cisza"


From childhood's hour I have not been
As others were; I have not seen
As others saw; I could not bring
My passions from a common spring.
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow; I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone;
And all I loved, I loved alone.
Then -- in my childhood, in the dawn
Of a most stormy life -- was drawn
From every depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still:
From the torrent, or the fountain,
From the red cliff of the mountain,
From the sun that round me rolled
In its autumn tint of gold,
From the lightning in the sky
As it passed me flying by,
From the thunder and the storm,
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view.
E.A.Poe

progressive rock alternative rock ambient gothic darkwave electronic trip-hop singer-songwriter experimental classic rock ethereal 80s polish post-punk progressive female vocalists british gothic rock art rock new wave

What have you done to the game
Was it a victory a shame
Where have you gone
Before morning dew
The game will not end
Without you...
Deine Lakaien "The Game"





Z pocałunkiem pożegnania,
Kiedy nadszedł czas rozstania,
Dziś już wyznać się nie wzbraniam:
Miałaś rację - teraz wiem -
Życie moje było snem,
Cóż, nadzieja uszła w cień!
A czy nocą, czyli w dzień,
Czy na jawie, czy w marzeniu -
Jednak utonęła w cieniu.
To, co widzisz, co się zda -
Jak sen we śnie jeno trwa.
Nad strumieniem, w którym fala
Z głuchym rykiem się przewala,
Stoję zaciskając w dłoni
Złoty piasek... Fala goni,
A przez palce moje, ach,
Przesypuje mi się piach -
A ja w łzach, ja tonę w łzach...
Gdybym ziarnka, choć nie wszystkie,
Mocnym zawrzeć mógł uściskiem,
Boże, gdybym z grzmiącej fali
Jedno ziarnko choć ocalił!...
Ach, czy wszystko, co się zda,
Jak sen we śnie jeno trwa
E.A.Poe
przekład: W.Lewik




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Searching for diamonds in the sulphur mine,
leaning on props that are rotten,
hoping for anything, looking for a sign
that I am not forgotten;
lost in a labyrinth of future mystery,
tracing my steps, all mistaken,
trusting to everything, praying it can be
that I am not forsaken,
I wait by the door,
wondering when you will come and keep me warm.
I pray for the end of the night,
hoping the light will still the storm
which presently entraps me:
helpless sea-monster stranded on the shore,
marooned in an ecstasy of waiting,
I yearn, although knowing that I shall dive no more
in the tide already racing.

My lungs burst to cry:
"Finally how could you leave me here to die?"
I freeze in the chill of this place
with no friendly face to smile goodbye...
how could you let it happen?

How could you let it happen?
Dreams, hopes and promises, fragments out of time,
all of these things have been spoken.
Still you don't understand how it feels when I'm
waiting for them to be broken.
Peter Hammill "My Room"