Nevena - Đorđe Balašević

Sale Nađ je umro u snu…

Dan se taman zasiveo…

I ne znam šta je sumnjivo tu…

Jer u snu je i živeo…

Kažu da je slutio kraj…

Tobož, nije navio sat…

Pa sad, znao je da gubi taj rat…

Neko ružno sanja, nekom su košmari svitanja

Sveštenik je gunđao psalm…

Ko za kaznu naučen stih…

Pred kapelom nobles i šljam…

Iz istog puka Poraženih…

Srećom, nije imao šta…

Pošto ne bi imao kom…

Arčio je život po svom…

Testament?

Tek skica na kutijici šibica

Strpljivi prsti neminovnosti razlažu uvod pesme koju dobro znam

I ako još išta ima da se oprosti i to ti noćas opraštam

Huči okean neizbežnosti… Pritislo nebo laki til tavanice

Al' to se leči s dve-tri kapi nežnosti u vinu iz Ravanice

Sale Nađ je umro u snu…

Slutim da je snivao Srem?

Onaj bunar studen pri dnu…

I šarom loze zasenčen trem…

Slutim da je snivao Nju…

Čije ime sam gospod zna?

I da se u ječmu tog sna jednostavno zbilo to što ga je i ubilo?

Strpljivi prsti neminovnosti razlažu uvod pesme koju dobro znam

I ako još išta ima da se oprosti i to ti noćas opraštam

Huči okean neizbežnosti… Pritislo nebo laki til tavanice

Al' to se leči s dve-tri kapi nežnosti u vinu iz Ravanice

Sale Nađ died in his sleep…

The day has just turned gray…

And I don't know what's suspicious there…

Because he lived in a dream…

They say he foresaw the end…

Apparently, he didn't wind the clock…

Well now, he knew he was losing that war…

Some dream badly, some have nightmares

The priest grumbled a psalm…

Who learned the verse for punishment…

In front of the chapel nobles and scum…

From the same regiment of the Defeated…

Fortunately, he didn't have anything…

Since he would have no one…

Archio lived his life…

A will?

Just a sketch on a matchbox

The patient fingers of inevitability decompose the introduction to a song I know well

And if there's anything else to say goodbye to, I'll forgive you tonight

The ocean of inevitability is roaring… The sky is pressed lightly to the ceiling

But it is treated with two or three drops of tenderness in wine from Ravanica

Sale Nađ died in his sleep…

I suspect he dreamed of Srem?

That cold well at the bottom…

And a layer of vines shaded porch…

I suspect he dreamed of New…

Whose name does God know?

And that in the barley of that dream, what simply killed him happened?

The patient fingers of inevitability decompose the introduction to a song I know well

And if there's anything else to say goodbye to, I'll forgive you tonight

The ocean of inevitability is roaring… The sky is pressed lightly to the ceiling

But it is treated with two or three drops of tenderness in wine from Ravanica