|somliga gï¿½r med trasiga skor performed by cornelis vreeswijk|
it's about time i recommended some vreeswijk. after all he's one of my very favourite artsts, and pretty obscure outside scandinavia. it's hard to decide wich song to post, as i guess you'd have to be scandinavian to enjoy the masterful, deceptivly simple lyrics. the best way to describe the man is as kind of a swedish crossbred of serge gainsbourg, tom waits and bob dylan.
this is one of his best-known songs, a qusasi-joyous melancholy number about death and hopelessness.
i once heard someone say something that summed up the power of this guy pretty well: "I donï¿½t understand swedish, however I do understand Cornelis Vreeswijk"
the best place to start if you're interested n an initial taste, is probably the new 2-cd set. if you're like me, youll soon advance to the original lp's and the 5-cd set "master cees memoarer".
Somliga gï¿½r med trasiga skor, sï¿½g vad beror det pï¿½?
Gud fader som i himmelen bor kanske vill ha det sï¿½.
Gud fader som i himmelen bor blundar och sover sï¿½tt. Vem bryr sig om ett par trasiga skor nï¿½r man ï¿½r gammal och trï¿½tt?
Vem bryr sig om hur dagarna gï¿½r? Dom vandrar som dom vill.
Medborgare, om ett hundra ï¿½r finns du ej lï¿½ngre till.
Dï¿½ har nï¿½n annan tagit din stol, det vet du inte av.
Du kï¿½nner varken regn eller sol ner i din mï¿½rka grav.
Vem bryr sig om hur nï¿½tterna far? Jag bryr mig inte ett spï¿½r. Bara jag fï¿½r ha mitt ansikte kvar dolt i min ï¿½lsklings hï¿½r.
Jag ï¿½r en tvivelaktig figur, duger ej mycket till. Bakom ett hï¿½rn stï¿½r dï¿½den pï¿½ lur, han tar mig nï¿½r han vill.
Somliga gï¿½r med trasiga skor tills dom har slutat gï¿½. Djï¿½vulen som i helvetet bor fï¿½r sig ett gott skratt dï¿½
a very, very bad and rushed translation of the lyrics,most of the humor and finer points are lost but at least you'll know what's it about:
some walk around in bad shoes, say, why is is it so?
maybe the good lord up in the sky wants it that way.
the good lord up in the sky sleeps calmly now.
who cares about a pair of bad shoes when they are old and tired?
who cares how the days pass? they go the way the want.
fellow citizen, in a hundred years you will no longer exist.
someone else will have taken your chair, but you won't know about that.
you'll feel neither rain nor sun, down in your dark grave.
who cares how the nights pass? i don't care at all.
as long as i get to keep my my face tucked in my love's hair.
i'm a questionable character, not good for much.
behind a corner death lurks, he'll take me whenever he wants.
some walk around in bad shoes/ until hey walk no more
the devil, who lives down in the hell/ will have a good laugh then.