Psarantonis (Antonis Xylouris) / Ψαραντώνης (Αντώνης Ξηλούρης)

Oh my little bird
I want to make trouble, like a bad January
to throw down snow and heavy rain
so another will not take you

When I go from place to place day and night
like a deserted bird
instead of crying I sing and my bitterness passes

(translation: Eva Johanos)

Ωσάν το έρημο πουλί γυρίζω μέρα νύχτα
κι αντί να κλαίω τραγουδώ και μου περνά η πίκρα

The wind put out the candle
that I held in my hand
and for me life is
darkness night and day

Man who didn’t understand
his eyes, see how they cry
he loved and they run
like the baby’s as they say

(translation: Eva Johanos)

Άντρας που δεν εκάτεχε
τα μάθια ντου πως κλαίνε
αγάπησε και τρέξανε
σαν του μωρού που λένε

Wind blow harder so that we can sail further
I smell my homeland in this air
in this air

For ten years I was traveling making dreams about you
with gods as my enemies, hating me
hating me

Loneliness is heavy, and time rushes
I became able of winning back a lost lifetime.

Είναι βαριά η μοναξια και η ιστορία τρέχει
κατόρθωσα και κέρδισα μια ζωή χαμένη

When will the sky be clear,
when will it be February,

so that I may get my rifle,
the beautiful cartridge belt,

to descend to Omalos,
to the street of Mousouros,

to make mothers without sons,
women without husbands,

to make the babies
cry without mothers,

to cry in the night for water,
and at morning for milk,

and after the morning
for the sweet homeland.

και τ΄ αποδιαφωτίσματα
τη δόλια τους τη μάνα…