Is é mo aigne mo chara,
Labhraíonn sé ach an fhírinne.
Tá mo chroí mo namhaid,
Labhraíonn sé le mo ghrá don teanga,
Luíonn an teanga.
Stop ag labhairt le mo chroí,
tá sé ag éirí as an cara de mo inchinn.
Níl aon loighic sna whispers,
san oíche.
Insíonn dom mo inchinn neamhaird air,
ach ní raibh mé ca.
sruthán mé ar an ngá atá a fhios sin ag mothú arís,
go mothú ar an tine a cuimhne mo chroí.
Tá mé chomh fuar,
Bhí mé chomh fuar le fada,
am Go mé an oighear.
Mar sin, má tá tú chun gcogar ar mo chroí an teanga an ghrá,
ansin ba chóir duit a bheith ullamh is fearr chun é a dhó,
Bhí is fearr leat a thabhairt do thine is láidre.
-
My enemy and my friend
My mind is my friend,
it speaks only the truth.
My heart is my enemy,
it speaks to my the language of love,
the language of lies.
Stop speaking with my heart,
for it is becoming the friend of my brain.
There is no logic in the whispers,
in the night.
My brain tells me to ignore it,
but I ca not.
I burn for the need to know that feeling again,
that feeling of the fire that my heart remembers.
I am so cold,
I have been so cold for so long,
That I am the ice.
So if you are to whisper to my heart the language of love,
then you should best be ready to burn,
You had best bring your strongest fire.
 Commie Fanny Whammer · Tue Sep 21, 2010 @ 07:46am · 0 Comments |
