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HUDIC, BI REKEL
Hudic, hi rekel clovek
in narocil še cetrt vina.
Ali ni umrlo ob 4 popoldne
umetnisko srce?
Votlo zvonijo zvonovi, to so
prazne pesmi, ki jih poznam..
Edino ena mi je draga.
Rekviem, ki ga se ni nihce
Naèel.
Le nekaj èasa je, ko zivim
od strupa in sovrastva, prezira in smeha,
in bol edina
moja je uteha.
Ah, vendar tem norcem
se posmejim..
Vi z okroglimi obrazi,
vendar: zivim.
What a Hell, One Would Say
What the hell, one would say
and order another carafe of wine.
Wasn't it at 4 p.m. that
the artistic heart passed away?
The hollow sounds of bells,
those are the empty poems I know.



There is only one I hold dear,
a Requiem as yet
untouched.



For some time I've lived off
poison and hate, loathing and laughter,
and pain as
my only comfort.
Ah, but I still laugh
at these fools.
You with your round faces,
and yet: I am alive.