My son, your memory of your mother is vague.
To you, she was a good shadow over the crib,
But you started remembering too late.
I'm listening for the fluttering of the angels,
Maybe that would help me find her again.
Ignore me, I moved our home like a gypsy tent.
Babbles smell of wine, and I gave her stuff away.
Every holiday passed in silence.
I knew not how to escape myself.
Everything stopped, but life went on.
My son... Her blue eyes.
Here comes the day you join the army,
Where weird saints are celebrated.
My son, how can I let you go?
You are everything her that I have.
Where are you going with those thick eyelashes?
Life really doesn't know what's enough.
Hear those who shout battle cry before the sleep,
who sing for the glory of the knives,
who sing, but then flee.
Bad times just got worse,
And those worst lead the game.
My son, your dad will buy you bagpipes,
And tamburitza with a bird of nacre.
All the girls will bud before the house.
Let the dust raise on the road
When batallion of girls march.
Everything stopped, but life went on.
My son... Her blue eyes.
Here comes the day you join the army,
Where hot-heads carouse.
My son, those are all bastards!
I won't let go of the tuft from the memory.
My kid, hold onto your dad,
You're not for that misery and obedience, for fuck' sake.