Fai-tor wehk-sular pa'ritsuri-wuh-set'ko k'Manic Street Preachers t'nash-veh. Pa'au ri fan-vel krol-tor nash-veh ri. Dan-krol-tor nash-veh kitau-tanaf-mnu spo'ekon t'Richey Edwards.
Many of you know about my obsession with the Manic Street Preachers. There is absolutely nothing about them I do not admire. I admired Richey Edwards' god-like lyrical skill most of all.
Tev-tor svi'falek-wak
Sash-thes-tor mal t'nash-veh k'zhar'es felu
K'la'tusan hakausu
Kur-tor isachya t'nash-veh - hi sa-to'ovau kur-tukh
Ri hafau nash-veh nodo-tangu
Bikuvlar t'kan-wak korsovau - sok'i eh k'mol-kom
Gla-tor nash-veh shal ri k'vashaun zehlar
Ovsot gadlar - lehman pi'gelar vi'pilashlar
Ki'ukrau nash-veh ni irak fi'vla
Naglanshau nash-veh neik-ha'gel-ulidarlar t'fereikan
Aitlu nash-veh tev-tor - tev-tor svi'falek-wak
Aitlu nash-veh tev-tor
Razh svi'ha'kiv t'nash-veh kurau ruhm solek
Netakidau khaf-spol t'nash-veh -
pi'khaf-spol-gaya goh
Pi'aushfa - vi'tcha yonuk-da-kuv
Kuv tun-tor du maut
pu-tor du ash'yalar t'eit'dzhae-sular
Sash-thes-tor mal t'nash-veh k'zhar'es felu
K'la'tusan hakausu
Kur-tor isachya t'nash-veh - hi sa-to'ovau kur-tukh
Ri hafau nash-veh nodo-tangu
Bikuvlar t'kan-wak korsovau - sok'i eh k'mol-kom
Gla-tor nash-veh shal ri k'vashaun zehlar
Ovsot gadlar - lehman pi'gelar vi'pilashlar
Ki'ukrau nash-veh ni irak fi'vla
Naglanshau nash-veh neik-ha'gel-ulidarlar t'fereikan
Aitlu nash-veh tev-tor - tev-tor svi'falek-wak
Aitlu nash-veh tev-tor
Razh svi'ha'kiv t'nash-veh kurau ruhm solek
Netakidau khaf-spol t'nash-veh -
pi'khaf-spol-gaya goh
Pi'aushfa - vi'tcha yonuk-da-kuv
Kuv tun-tor du maut
pu-tor du ash'yalar t'eit'dzhae-sular
Die in the Summertime
Scratch my leg with a rusty nail
Sadly it heals
Color my hair, but the dye grows out
I can't seem to stay a fixed ideal
Childhood pictures redeem, clean and so serene
See myself without ruining lines
Whole days throwing sticks into streams
I have crawled so far sideways
I recognise dim traces of creation
I wanna die, die in the summertime
I wanna die
The hole in my life even stains the soil
My heart shrinks
to barely a pulse
A tiny animal curled into a quarter circle
If you really care
wash the feet of a beggar
Scratch my leg with a rusty nail
Sadly it heals
Color my hair, but the dye grows out
I can't seem to stay a fixed ideal
Childhood pictures redeem, clean and so serene
See myself without ruining lines
Whole days throwing sticks into streams
I have crawled so far sideways
I recognise dim traces of creation
I wanna die, die in the summertime
I wanna die
The hole in my life even stains the soil
My heart shrinks
to barely a pulse
A tiny animal curled into a quarter circle
If you really care
wash the feet of a beggar
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