Boite Sunday Program

Boite Sunday March 8, 2026

Program, Lyrics and Translations

 

Today’s Boite Sunday performance, presented on International Women’s Day, is a celebration of songs shaped by the words of remarkable female lyricists — women who wrote with honesty, tenderness, wit, longing, and courage. Through their lyrics, we encounter the many faces of a woman’s inner world: love and loss, desire and memory, solitude and resilience, everyday humor and deep emotional truth. These songs remind us that between joy and heartbreak, strength and vulnerability, lies the full poetry of life itself.

We are honored to share this evening through the voice of Marina Kolitsas, accompanied on keyboards by Petros Hatjopoulos.

Sappho was an Ancient Greek poet from Eresos or Mytilene on the island of Lesbos.  Sappho is known for her lyric poetry, written to be sung while accompanied by music. In ancient times, Sappho was widely regarded as one of the greatest lyric poets and was given names such as the "Tenth Muse" and "The Poetess". Most of Sappho's poetry is now lost, and what is not has mostly survived in fragmentary form; only the Ode to Aphrodite is certainly complete. As well as lyric poetry, ancient commentators claimed that Sappho wrote elegiac and iambic poetry. 

Ατθίδα

Atthis   music by Spyros Vlassopoulos; translation and interpretation of Sapphic fragments by Sotiris Kakisis

Like a wind that love has shaken through my thoughts,
like a wind that bends the oak trees on a mountain,
you came — and good you did, for I had longed for you so;
you cooled my little soul that was burning with desire.

And whiter than milk, fresher than water,
and softer than the finest veil,
purer than the rose, dearer than gold,
and sweeter than the lyre, more musical.

It’s been a long time since once I loved you, Atthis,
but then you seemed to me a small and innocent little girl.
You who enchant mortals, child of Aphrodite,
of everything the finest star is you.

And whiter than milk...

Eftychia Papagiannopoulou wrote the lyrics to many popular Greek songs, collaborating with composers like Vassilis Tsitsanis, Apostolos Kaldaras and Manos Hadjidakis; however, she did not achieve major fame until her death in 1972. Her great contribution to Greek music through her exceptional ability in lyricism was not broadly known and recognized, largely due to the fact that many of her lyrics were attributed to the songwriters that wrote the music to them. This, because she was always in need of fast cash to settle her extensive gambling debts. Rather than obtain proper credit and the royalties that come from them, she would sell her lyrics for a quick buck. Apostolos Kaldaras was one of the few collaborators who refused to leave her name off of the credits, ensuring that the royalties were hers.

 

Τα καβουράκια

The Little Crabs  music by Vasilis Tsitsanis

On the pebbles by the shore
sit two little crabs,
helpless, full of sorrow,
and the poor things keep on crying.

And their mama, Lady Crab,
is out strolling with the sea bream in Rafina,
and the little crabs keep on crying
there on the pebbles by the shore.

At night the father crab goes out,
finds the little house in ruins,
searches for his family
and tears at his hair.

He sets his course, limping, to Rafina,
to catch Lady Crab,
and the little crabs keep on crying
there on the pebbles by the shore.

Dawn blushes red
and the crab comes back,
without his mate again,
limping along the seashore.

With the sea bream, who stayed up all night in Rafina,
Lady Crab is now playing in the shallows,
and the little crabs keep on crying
there on the pebbles by the shore.

 

Φεύγω με Πίκρα στα Ξένα

I Leave in Bitterness for Foreign Lands   music by Stelios Kazantzidis

Mother, I’m leaving, don’t cry for me;
fate has written that I must live alone.
The hatred of the world lashes me cruelly,
and so I leave in bitterness for foreign lands.

They wronged me, mother, they wounded me deeply,
and all that I loved I have now lost.
Your child has never known joy,
and now he leaves forever for foreign lands.

Bitter memories I will take with me;
in foreign lands I’ll live in ruin.
You will no longer have your child, sweet mother;
there I will die, in foreign lands.

 

Η Φαντασία

Imagination    music by Apostolos Kaldaras

It’s not you who’s at fault — my imagination is to blame,
for it shaped you just as it wanted.
My imagination, which for years deceived me
that you would open my shut heart.

But what is that dream
that always comes true
and leaves no scars
on most hearts,
and no wound in the chest?

It’s not you who’s at fault — my imagination is to blame.
So don’t cry because I’m leaving in haste.
Now it is I who should be crying
for the lost ideals of my heart.

 

Ειν’ Αητός Χωρίς Φτερά   

An Eagle Without Wings   music by Manos Hadjidakis

Like an eagle I had wings,
and I flew, and I flew very high.
But one beloved hand, one adored hand,
cuts off my wings, so I can’t fly high.

I am an eagle without wings, without love and without joy.
Without love and without joy, I am an eagle without wings.

That beloved hand, that adored hand,
throughout my life, throughout my life I will love.
Whatever it may have done to me,
I forgive it everything.
With broken wings,
I will always love it.

I am an eagle without wings, without love and without joy.
Without love and without joy, I am an eagle without wings.

 

Είμαστε Αλάνια

We’re Streetwise Kids  music by Vasilis Tsitsanis

We’re streetwise kids, chosen boys in the rough-and-tumble world,
and storms don’t frighten our kind,
storms don’t frighten our kind.

What can you do, what can you do, such is always life —
you’ll laugh or you’ll cry, morning and night.

Every passion of ours becomes a song and we sing it,
and through life’s mishaps we learned never to cry.

What can you do, what can you do, such is always life —
you’ll laugh or you’ll cry, morning and night.

And if in society storms beat us mercilessly,
inside song the hours pass happily.

 

Δυο Πόρτες Έχει η Ζωή

Life Has Two Doors  music by Stelios Kazantzidis

My final night,
tonight I am spending it,
and all those who embittered me so,
now that I’m leaving life,
I forgive them all.

Everything is a lie,
a breath, a sigh;
like a flower some hand
will cut us one dawn.

Where I’m going,
tears and pain do not pass;
sorrows and heartaches
will stay here in life,
and I will go alone.

Life has two doors;
I opened one and entered.
I wandered one morning,
and before evening came,
I went out through the other.

 

The Road   music by Manos Loizos, words by Kostoula Mitropoulou

The road had its own story
Someone wrote it on a wall with paint
It was just one word: freedom
And then they said children wrote it

La la la…

Then time rolled on and the story
Passed easily from memory to heart
The wall now read “unique opportunity”
All kinds of materials sold inside

La la la…

On Sundays from morning in cafés
Then stadiums, betting, fights
The road had its own story
But they said children wrote it

 

Sotia Tsotou is a Greek lyricist and journalist known for her influential contributions to Greek music, particularly through her long-standing collaboration with singer-songwriter Kostas Chatzis and her protest songs written during the Greek military junta. Her lyrics often combined social criticism, philosophical depth, and compassion. Tsotou endured early hardship when her father, a resistance fighter, was executed by German occupying forces in front of their home during World War II, after which she was adopted by a wealthy family in Athens. She received a strong education and began her career as a journalist in the mid-1960s, writing political reports for the newspaper Eleftheria. [2] The 1967 military coup disrupted her work and led to multiple imprisonments due to her leftist views, yet she continued to express dissent, including through song lyrics composed while in custody. Encouraged by lyricist Lefteris Papadopoulos, she transitioned into songwriting as a means of livelihood and commentary, turning what was intended as temporary work into a defining career. Her partnership with Kostas Chatzis produced some of the most enduring songs in modern Greek music, marked by themes of resistance, humanity, and optimism. 

 

Νατανε το ‘21

If Only It Were ’21  music by Stavros Kougioumtzis

They come back to me one by one,
those glorious years.
If only it were ’21,
if only there might come a moment
when I would ride on horseback
through the broad threshing floor
and with Kolokotronis
drink wine.

To fight by day in the castles,
and for my sword to catch fire,
and at night beneath the stars
to hold a pretty girl in my arms.

They come back to me one by one,
those glorious years.
If only it were ’21,
if only there might come a night.

To lead the dance first
on the roads of the Morea,
with the Maniots behind me
and the men from Psara too,
and when wounded I lean down
beneath the garden plots,
let hands and skies
shower me with violets.

To fight by day in the castles,
and for my sword to catch fire,
and at night beneath the stars
to hold a pretty girl in my arms.

They come back to me one by one,
those glorious years.
If only it were ’21,
if only there might come a night.

Σπουδαίοι άνθρωποι, αλλά

Important People, But…   music by Kostas Hatzis

Important people, but
their loneliness freezes them.
They go to the cinema
so they won’t feel alone.

But I have you, and you have me,
and our love is a golden bird.
But I have you, and you have me;
two people in love are many.

Noises, lights, voices,
and amid the laughter, snow,
telephones, company,
so they won’t feel alone.

But I have you, and you have me,
and our love is a golden bird.
But I have you, and you have me;
two people in love are many.

 

Αντίο

Adieu   music by Kostas Hatzis

For me the flame is still burning;
whatever may happen, I will love you.
So don’t ask me who is to blame;
whoever it is, I will say it’s me.

Adieu then, adieu,
I’m missing this ship too.
And, my God, such cold it is
when two becomes one.

Whatever may happen, I will stay close to you.
I will beg the heavens
that you not pay for your mistakes —
let me pay for them all.

Δεν Ειμ’ Εγω

It Isn’t Me   music by Kostas Hatzis

My heart was an unguarded house, and you came in.
You came in to rest, and you plundered it too.
My heart was a ship on a maiden voyage;
you came like a corsair with fires and trampled it.

Now why are you trembling, why do you feel sorry?
I ask no responsibility from you.
This voice that you fear —
it isn’t me, it isn’t me.
I fall silent, listen, I fall silent;
I ask no responsibility from you.
Someone else is shouting, someone else is asking,
someone else is keeping score.
I swear to you, it isn’t me.

My heart was unguarded.
You came in, found peace, and then you set it ablaze.
You entered the battle carrying a branch,
speaking of peace — and suddenly you fired.

Now why are you trembling, why do you feel sorry?
I ask no responsibility from you.
This voice that you fear —
it isn’t me, it isn’t me.
I fall silent, listen, I fall silent;
I ask no responsibility from you.
Someone else is shouting, someone else is asking,
someone else is keeping score.
I swear to you, it isn’t me.

 

Σ’αγαπω

I Love You    music by Kostas Hatzis

I love you, as a mother loves her child,
as the flame loves the torch,
as an old man loves the life that is leaving him.

I love you, as the abyss loves the light,
as the poor man loves dreams,
and the tired soldier loves peace.

I have nothing else — I am only a voice.
I am two empty hands that wrap around you.
But I love you, and look — the heavens open,
the heavens that open so reluctantly.

I seek you, as the earth seeks the rain,
as the soul seeks laughter,
and travelers seek the deep-shaded plane trees.

I seek you, as snow seeks fire,
the hurting seek healing,
and great sin seeks repentance.

I have nothing else — I am only a voice.
I am two empty hands that wrap around you.
But I love you, and look — the heavens open,
the heavens that open so reluctantly.

 

Μονολογούμε

We Speak to Ourselves   music by Kostas Hatzis

I speak with horses,
with Spinos and with Korydallos.
But with irrational beings,
and with people I do not speak.

We speak to ourselves, we speak to ourselves,
we don’t even hear what others say.
We cannot bear another’s pain;
we speak just for the sake of speaking.

I speak with the rain
and with the wave upon the shore,
But with soulless beings
and with people I do not speak.

We speak to ourselves, we speak to ourselves,
we don’t even hear what others say.
We cannot bear another’s pain;
we speak just for the sake of speaking.

Marianina Kriezi was a Greek lyricist and radio producer known for her poetic contributions to children's music, most notably as the lyricist for the radio program Edo Lilipoupoli.  Born in 1947 in Athens, Greece, she crafted imaginative and educational lyrics that brought to life a whimsical world of talking vegetables, dancing peas, and moonlit adventures, helping shape the cultural childhood of generations of Greeks. In popular music, her collaborations with songwriter Lakis Papadopoulos helped propel the Greek music scene of the 80s/90s into new directions with playful and insightful lyrics that expressed contemporary realities with humor and depth.

 

Το Στραγάλι

The Roasted Chickpea    music by Lakis Papadopoulos

Outside the little movie theater
I had put in your paper cone
the roasted chickpea of my love,
and if you kiss some other girl,
you’ll slip on the chickpea
and fall again
into my embrace.

Among the roasted seeds it shines
like a ruby, like a diamond,
the roasted chickpea of my love,
and if you kiss some other girl,
you’ll slip on the chickpea
and fall again
into my embrace.

We often lose
our eggs and our Easter things,
but roasted chickpeas, roasted chickpeas
are forever, forever.

In the movie that has begun,
popcorn will not defeat
the roasted chickpea of my love,
and if you kiss some other girl,
you’ll slip on the chickpea
and fall again into my embrace.

We often lose
our eggs and our Easter things,
but roasted chickpeas, roasted chickpeas
are forever, forever.

 

Σερενατα

Serenata   music by Lakis Papadopoulos

Kind of as a joke we said goodbye;
I took your record player and you took my refrigerator.
You took the sheets, I took the begonia,
and three years have passed since our separation.

I don’t want to see you again, my darling, we made a mess of things.
I only want to tell you that tonight the cat gave birth.

She had babies, two striped kittens;
she’s abandoned them on the kitchen tiles.
The poor little things look dizzy,
and I named one of them Panagiotis, after you.

I don’t want to see you again, my darling, we made a mess of things.
I only want to tell you that tonight the cat gave birth.

I wonder where you are, I wonder if you remember
how you used to tell the cat, “Serenata, don’t be afraid.
All my life you’ll be my kitty;
I’ll never again give my soul to another cat.”

I don’t want to see you again, my darling, we made a mess of things.
I only want to tell you that tonight the cat gave birth.

Inside the chiffonier she became a mother;
she left her two kittens here behind.
And she left me to come to you;
tell me what I should do — I’m at a loss myself.

Bad news for Serenata,
whom once you fed marinated red mullet.
Now you don’t care where she spends the winter,
nor whether some kamikaze got the better of her.

I don’t want to see you again, my darling, we made a mess of things.
I only want to tell you that tonight the cat gave birth.

My love, goodbye — the joke is over.
This morning I went and bought a refrigerator again.
Get yourself other dishes, find another cat,
but every now and then remember Serenata.

I don’t want to see you again, my darling, we made a mess of things.
I only want to tell you that tonight we lost the cat.

I don’t want to see you again, my darling, we made a mess of things.
I only want to tell you that tonight the cat gave birth.

 

Τα  Ήσυχα Βράδια

The Quiet Evenings    music by Lakis Papadopoulos

Even if you leave
to go around the world,
you will always be mine,
we will always be together.

And I will not miss you,
because my soul will be
the song of the desert
that will follow you.

On quiet evenings
Athens will light up
like a great ship
with you inside it too.

And you will not miss me,
because my soul will be
the song of the desert
that will follow you.

Even if you leave
to go around the world,
you will always be mine,
we will always be together.

And I will not miss you,
because my soul will be
the song of the desert
that will follow you.

On quiet evenings
the train of my life
will pass illuminated,
with you inside it too.

And you will not miss me,
because my soul will be
the song of the desert
that will follow you.

Batida de Cocoa     music by Lakis Papadopoulos

When Frida broke up with Yannis,
in the little bars where things earned interest,
whoever asked her how she was doing
she answered: Batida de Coco.

Batida, batida, batida, batida de Coco.
I do not lend my heart out with interest,
and when I get it back in its sorry state,
I always say “so be it” — and Batida de Coco.

And if you left me this year, Batida,
and made a complete mess of me, de Coco,
just as Frida was saying last year,
what can you do — Batida de Coco.

I’m not afraid of broken things;
I’ve learned to patch them up with putty,
and I remember Frida’s words
when I drink Batida de Coco.

 

Arleta established herself as a central figure in the Neo Kyma (New Wave) movement of Greek singer-songwriters during the late 1960s, symbolizing the shift toward intimate, understated performances in small boite venues where emotional depth was conveyed through subtlety rather than spectacle. Her distinctive low-key whispering vocal style, paired with self-accompaniment on guitar, earned her recognition as the undisputed queen of emotional understatement and defined the aesthetic of this introspective wave. Her work, spanning the 1960s through the 1990s, chronicled everyday relationships, urban experiences, and middle-class Athenian life, particularly in self-written albums like Ena kapelo tragoudia (1981) and later collaborations, making her recordings essential for understanding the cultural texture of those decades. Her enduring impact lies in the profound resonance her understated approach and thematic honesty held within the collective Greek psyche across generations.

Μπαρ το Ναυαγιο

The Shipwreck Bar    music by Arleta

The night before last, late, at the Shipwreck Bar,
I found myself drinking with a saint.
He was sitting on the stool next to me
and taking communion with whiskey and water.

I said to him, “Holy father, what are you looking for here?
This is no place for a saint.”
He says to me, “Child, you are greatly mistaken;
here is where human pain and passion dwell.”

Look around you — the madmen and the drunkards
(he says, “I love them”) — the damned ones.
If you want to become holy, you must sin;
and then, if you have time, repent.

The night before last, late, at the Shipwreck Bar,
I found myself drinking with a saint.
He was sitting on the stool next to me
and taking communion with whiskey and water.
He was sitting on the stool next to me;
in the end he even paid the bill.

Lina Nikolakopoulou pioneered unconventional lyrics in Greek music by blending poetic depth with social and political themes, challenging the norms of the 1980s through albums that captured the era's tensions and personal freedoms. Her work symbolized a generational shift, with songs addressing urban alienation, empowerment, and defiance against societal constraints, resonating deeply with youth navigating post-dictatorship Greece. This approach infused laïko traditions with introspective narratives drawn from everyday locales and emotional landscapes, elevating songwriting beyond conventional romance to explore identity and resistance.  Through collaborations with prominent female vocalists, she empowered women's voices in music, crafting texts that highlighted autonomy, desire, and social critique, thereby shifting laïko toward more nuanced, gender-aware expressions.

Δι’ Ευχων

By the Prayers   music by Nikos Antypas

Hawks fly from their nests
into our frightened life to see what’s there,
like the old sinful women
for whom there was no embrace and no hiding place.

Under the sickly rain,
on the national highways of the refrigerated trucks,
the black oil from the soul
does not burn for anything that would resemble a blessing.

By the prayers of our holy ones,
in the temples of great sobbing;
by the prayers of the saints of the earth,
of the visible and invisible wound;
by the prayers of the saints for whom you weep,
for whom you may say “I love you.”

By the prayers of the saints forever
with the breath of God.

I look at the sun from the mountain,
and the dynamite of my soul breaks the stone.
I want to run, I begin,
within the five meters of global logic.

With the initials engraved —
name, blood and kiss, and ancient walls —
and with a bundle of Greek words
I will write, world, my prophecies with my nail.

By the prayers of our holy ones,
in the temples of great sobbing;
by the prayers of the saints of the earth,
of the visible and invisible wound;
by the prayers of the saints for whom you weep,
for whom you may say “I love you.”

By the prayers of the saints forever
with the breath of God.

 

Η Σωτηρια της Ψυχης

The Salvation of the Soul     music by Stamatis Kraounakis

The countryside mornings —
we will find them again,
embraced in bed,
and it doesn’t matter that so early
we will look on
without searching for anything.

The materials of certainty
are sweet words recorded on cassettes
about those things that came so late,
but the heart received them
with open hands.

The salvation of the soul
is a very great thing,
like a pleasure trip
with a hidden wound.

A deserted beach,
and there we would spread out
the step of our life,
and it doesn’t matter that so many kisses,
before they grow old,
the wave will carry them away.

And there at the edge of the line
we would give away our old pieces
to those things that were so small
but cast such shadows
as to look like palaces.

The salvation of the soul
is a very great thing,
like a pleasure trip
with a hidden wound.

 

 

Ο Αδονις

Adonis    music by Stamatis Kraounakis

Wherever you go, you will always be here;
you’ll have the key and you’ll open the door.
But I’m afraid, my baby, that I may leave.
Come, let’s the two of us go for a stroll.

Let’s go to Adonis for coffee,
where hotties and freaks go,
and athletes hang around too,
and where some nervous overweight woman goes
on Sundays to get rid of her stress.
And everything seems like nothing at all,
and people go about unsuspectingly,
and you are my longing,
my coffee and my cigarettes.

Whatever we may live through, we’ve seen it before,
like a scene from another film,
and all the world, my baby, may be living it too.
Come, I’m buying coffee in the square.

Let’s go to Adonis for coffee,
where hotties and freaks go,
and athletes hang around too,
and where some nervous overweight woman goes
on Sundays to get rid of her stress.
And everything seems like nothing at all,
and people go about unsuspectingly,
and you are my longing,
my coffee and my cigarettes.

 

Μαμα Γερναω

Mother, I’m Growing Old    music by Stamatis Kraounakis

The clothes I never learned how to wash,
I put them in a bag and bring them to you.
You ask about my career,
about my nights and my days,
and somehow I manage to talk to you.

And I think, as I drink Coca-Cola,
so that while it’s always the same, everything changes,
and I open your refrigerator —
your “come here” and your “goodbye”
were what I sought in life above all.

Mother, I’m hungry, Mother, I’m afraid, Mother, I’m growing old,
and I tremble that I may be
what for years you worried I’d become:
beautiful, young, and unlucky.

The years in which you were growing older for me,
know that I have kept them for you.
And I finished with honors,
but I have no good news —
Mom, everything in this world is written.

Thirty summers and winters,
I bring you your wild anemones,
and look — one mystery of the world’s criterion:
it tells me that we resemble one another like two drops.

Mother, I’m hungry, Mother, I’m afraid, Mother, I’m growing old,
and I tremble that I may be
what for years you worried I’d become:
beautiful, young, and unlucky.

 

Το Χειροκροτημα

The Applause     music by Dimitra Galani

We are still alive,
on the stage like a rock band,
and if the rope holds us,
it will be shown in the applause.

You look at me, I look at you, and then silence.
Something will break in the heart, in the mind.
You look at me, I look at you, and you grow melancholy.
Time has passed, and you love me, I love you.

You hold me, I hold you, and then the abyss,
and after that the end, and no one belongs to anyone.
You hold me, I hold you, and shadows everywhere,
and mirrors everywhere for gods and lovers.

We are still alive,
on the stage like a rock band,
and if the rope holds us,
it will be shown in the applause.

Haris Alexiou is considered among Greece’s finest vocalists, from the outset of her career in the early 1970s. In the 1980s she began writing songs (words and then music, also) and in the 90s recorded several self-penned albums that were commercially and critically acclaimed. Most of her work is autobiographical in nature and reflect the experiences of young Greek women at the time she was writing. Today, she is retired from singing, but has gained international acclaim once again, this time in her new vocation: acting. She is best known for her role as the grandmother in the Netflix hit “Maestro in Blue”.

 

Ζητα Μου Ο,τι Θες

Ask Me for Whatever You Want    words and music by Haris Alexiou

Tonight I will swear to you that I love you.
You push me toward evil and I laugh.
Whatever remained from the devastation, I will give you,
my last shipwreck before I live.

Ask me for whatever you want, take me wherever you want, you —
I no longer want to live a half-life.

Tonight the night has made me torment you
before I dance your mad dance for you,
and as long as you keep weaving my red veils,
in the mirror I will watch you dying.

Ask me for whatever you want, take me wherever you want, you —
I no longer want to live a half-life.

 

Ψυθηροι Καρδιας

Whispers of the Heart     words by Eleni Yiannatasoulia, music by Christos Nikolopoulos

The moon, like a ship, rolled over the body
and secretly spoke to us of lawless seas.
With eyes aflame, with untamed words,
for you I abolished stations and borders.

What one should and should not do,
I never thought of for a moment.
I fell in love with you until death.
All my steps lead me to you,
even if I have to cross forty waves.

The moon, like a ship, in our bed
redeems our caresses and our love.
On maps and in cities, with whispers of the heart,
all that was not meant for us, my light,
will burn away.

Marina Satti and Marina Spanou and Skiadareses are young recording artists that have emerged in the last decade, giving voice to a new generation of female creators.

 

Νανι   words and music by Marina Satti

Σινε Σερι  words and music by Marina Satti

Το Τραγουδι του #!@*  by Skiadareses

Αχ, Θαλασσα

Ah, Sea      words and music by Marina Satti

Ah, sea, my sea, you —
take me inside you so I may drown.
Without love I do not want
to live here on land.

But you are so calm, my sea,
glass that mirrors birds.
But I am a wave,
quiet waters...

Ah, sea, my sea, I —
for one of your miracles tonight I live,
to sink in a storm
into the black abyss.

But you are so calm, my sea,
glass that mirrors birds above you.
But I am a wave.

 

Ταξιδι

Journey   words and music by Marina Spanou

At an indifferent party you were standing off to the side,
with a cigarette between your lips,
as though you were searching for something
that might resemble a caress
in a world that cannot hold on to you.

I think I’ve seen you somewhere before;
Pangrati with you reminds me of an era
I haven’t lived through.
I said that one day I would turn us into music,
and that way we’d remain alive forever,
entangled in the city.

But you are a journey without destination,
without destination,
and I will wait for you —
it is enough for me to wait for you
at so-, at some station.

In yellow Athens you walked like a poem,
staring at cats who learned that we get drunk.
But now as dawn breaks, the smell hurts you,
and I stand here watching you run.

Toward places that did not choose us,
on the balconies of your adolescent neighborhood,
smoking your fears.
I know that near me you will hurt,
and the route of loneliness does not stain you.

But you are a journey without destination,
without destination,
and I will wait for you —
it is enough for me to wait for you
at so-, at some station.

But you are a journey without destination,
without destination,
and I will wait for you —
it is enough for me to wait for you
at so-, at some station.

I look for you at every party,
at every corner in Pangrati.

Lina Nikolakopoulou (reprise)

Ναταν η Χαρα Οικοπεδο

If Joy Were a Building Lot     music by  Goran Bregovic

My imagined jasmine, I cannot bear
to shut myself up within a rented wall,
and at night to think of all the waves of the shore,
rolling down with empty beer cans.

If joy were a building lot,
then one more time, like a mischievous kid,
one more time, witch, I would return there.

If only I had a blue bicycle,
I’d catch the light and then try to guard it,
I’d catch the light and ride out to America.

I’ll take the downhill road and make my way out;
I owe no day’s wages to Death.
With love I make no bargains amid the waves of the shore;
I turn my heart into dice and sell everything.

If only I could return where I left you
and telegraphed different things to life,
and expected different things from life and not prison.

If joy were a building lot,
then one more time, like a mischievous kid,
one more time, witch, I would return there.

If only I had a blue bicycle,
I’d catch the light and then try to guard it,
I’d catch the light and ride out to America.

 

Βενζιναδικο

Gas Station   music by  Goran Bregovic

If only I could have a gas station in the clouds,
to be in danger in the void for my unjust star;
hearts are junk metal in a body condemned.

Bring me glasses and smash the glass,
cut off the kiss, so that I may drink and get drunk,
for you took too long with all my whims,
and I, the madwoman, fled high into the sky.

To forget, perhaps I can still return to the world;
it is a heavy burden for the age of gypsies —
fires, hearts, junk metal, and a God above injustice.
Leave me up in the clouds, at an old gas station.

If only I could lift my soul up into the clouds,
with lightning calm the complaints I had stored
in my mind, and begin anew,
and make entertainment out of sorrow.

Bring me glasses and smash the glass,
cut off the kiss, so that I may drink and get drunk,
for you took too long with all my whims,
and I, the madwoman, fled high into the sky.

To forget, perhaps I can still return to the world;
it is a heavy burden for the age of gypsies —
fires, hearts, junk metal, and a God above injustice.
Leave me up in the clouds, at an old gas station.