Солнца не видно на английском

Итоги конкурса переводов
Благодарим всех за присланные переводы песни "Солнца не видно"! Лучшим оказался текст человека, который скрывается под ником Серж Чума. Его версия текста вполне соответствует его фамилии. Фирменный мерч и почести со стороны резидентов Газа не заставит себя ждать.

SUNLESS SKIES


Even the Sun is invisible here,
They say «No fucking catch»,
But we are mixing our fear,
Which helps us not to fetch up.
We are getting busy and dusty,
Helpless in making real a fairy tale,
And time whispers «I'll kill you»,
But this mix helps us not to fail.

Even the Sun is invisible here,
Daily scripts are far from colourful movie line.
Dust and shit on running gear,
And my son can be saved, if I drop pot in time.
Few would cover my back in need.
The strength is in trusting your own grit.
For uniformed bastards we are just trash,
And the choice is to shut up or die.
Many who tried to change it, vanished
By a killer's bullet or a verdict of lie.
In talk-shows justice is pretended,
It is naive to trust in a successful try.
No way out, and no point in elections turnout,
Since they don't care, on what to swear – Constitution or Bible.
They are shouting «freedom» at street actions,
Treating the coutry like a company bringing them profit,
And I don't care, which city, Moscow or Kiev, has a say.
Better tell me how to live on the minimal wage shit.
What are you praying for in the the temple of Saviour,
In the heart of the Third World coutries's capital?
Hey, Mister Boss, it is so sad to see
This power suffering from despair.
It is then useless to salve us with wise speaches,
We would prefer chatting with you on-line or on air.
Meanwhile, there are straps and stamps, carrots and sticks,
And the Rap itself, and we take the rap for it.
As long as we havn't become wild junkies in a final fix,
We'll be stressing our point, Mister Boss, that's it.

Even the Sun is invisible here,
They say «No fucking catch»,
But we are mixing our fear,
Which helps us not to fetch up.
We are getting busy and dusty,
Helpless in making real a fairy tale,
And time whispers «I'll kill you»,
But this mix helps us not to fail.

Smoking shit and drinking pu'er in bricks,
We go so high that the Sun is invisible,
For some guys life is sugar, for others - torture in a brig.
You are sleeping at home, but for somebody HS ward is feasible.
Someone is fixing a visa to flee overseas,
While others are hiding there for half of their life.
There are those who call cops at once,
But we are still here and try to bring about some change.
A straight talk is important in texts.
Is it easy to cross the line, but then how to look people in the eyes?
Pour me, old pal, some vodka in the glass,
All that will remain after us, this is our truth in rhymes.
We do not swallow staff in the news,
Our time is not measured by a sand-glass.
And if it's true, we will take the risks,
We were crucified long ago, that is why we don't fear the cross.
Tzar places his people to important spots,
And folks like us stay here as serfs.
Waiting for restyling is not an option.
Either you stay in stalls or hitch in shackles.
Hey, Mister Boss, is'nt your crown too tight?
This is a fly in your fake ointment.
Maybe I'm idiot and will break my neck,
But I won' admit this bullshit, that's it.