Gant ur porpant didreuzus, e yin d'ar foar

Hallo, hallo a chairdean, chuala mi program air leth math air Radio nan Gaidheal sa mhadainn an-diugh. 'Sann mu dheidhinn Bhaideanach a bha e. Tha e coltach nach robh moran daoine san sgire aig a robh gaidhlig sna laithean ud, agus bha am program claraichte o chionn coig air fhichead bliadhna. Agus tha an tagh a bu chudthromaiche ann am bliadhnaichean a-nis gu bhith deiseal. De an t-oran a b'fhearr a rinn Tiodhlaic Posaidh neo David Gedge anns na bliadhnaichean a bha iad a' claradh. 'S e Brassneck neo You Should Always Stay In Touch With Your Friends, an da a thaghainn-sa ach tha na daoine coir a tha air a bhith taghadh air My Favourite Dress agus Dalliance a thaghadh airson an fharpais mu dheireadh, a-mach a sin bheirinn mo bhot gu Dalliance, 's e oran druidhteach a th'ann agus airidh air duais air choireigin, ged nach e a' bhonn oir aig a' Mhod.

A-nise, airson mo bhonn oir fhein, seo daintean.

There is no knowledge in death
Or in the depths of psychosis
As Vainamoinen knew too well
We lapse before the prognosis
You're doing well jsut stay sedated
I think my life belongs to hell
For which heaven has me compensated
I lie awake in a treeless dell
And grin at stars inanely
I've begun to lose my mind
And think of her insanely
We were a messiah, so I claimed
Instead of jsut a putsch
And so I quiver as I masturbate
I belong I think as Dutch
To lazy dropped out schools of men
Where destiny has given help
To us to hope as figs or grapes
And not pass in the world of kelp
Where life is one with trees and slush
And anger has related
To all my relatives and friends
And not with her my fated

betek aman e teue ar yer

Plainly the distress proved too much
For the fledgling sanity I nurtured
My birth stifles the chance of love
That longingly I'd purchased
My heart succumbed to an illness
That spread slowly to my mind
And now my thoughts beg forgiveness
From the girl who I maligned
The death that I remember
The ghost that I became
Are only part of the romance
Of living without shame
When your very thoughts are guilty
Your hands an act offensive
It's time to give up on life
And take a new defensive
Posture, I will mine my own demise
For riches human, cultural
That strike the hearts of men
And leave the awe of nothingness
Behind, wrought by my pen

Oh mo chreach, chan eil moran aoibhneas nam bhardachd, sdocha, gu bheil e caran amaideach na nadar, ach co-dhiu.
tioraidh
dc