More songs by Oguz Aksaç
Description
Producer: Ekrem Düzgünoğlu
Composer: Ekrem Düzgünoğlu
Lyricist: Ekrem Düzgünoğlu
Arranger: Ekrem Düzgünoğlu
Lyrics and translation
Original
Ağlar sazım, ağlar yaralı tellerim.
Perde perde ateş döken dökene, döken dökene, döken dökene. . .
Ayl poyraz benle işin ne senin?
Gönlüme ateşi döken dökene, döken dökene, döken dökene.
Harlayıp harlayıp kara kazanı, sineme kızgın yağ döken dökene, döken dökene.
Harlayıp harlayıp kara kazanıp sineme kızgın yağ döken dökene, döken -dökene.
-Her adım bir gurbet, her gurbet yoksunluk demek.
Bir geceye kaç ızdırap sığar çocuk?
Biz ağlamayı yoldaş, derdimizi katık bildik ve bundandır bakışımızdaki gariplik.
Biz her mızraba perde perde türkü olduk.
Döküldük bir hazdan gam olduk, söz olduk.
Gülistana girdim, güller kurumuş.
Dallarına hazan döken dökene, döken dökene, döken dökene. . .
Efkârım bağrımda zülfikar olmuş.
Parça parça kanım döken dökene, döken dökene, döken dökene.
Gariplik ömrüme yoldaşım olmuş.
Yolların ucunu kesen kesene, kesen kesene.
Gariplik ömrüme yoldaşım olmuş.
Yolların ucunu kesen kesene, kesen kesene.
English translation
My instrument cries, my wounded strings cry.
Curtains, curtains, fire pours to the pourers, pours to the pourers, pours to the pourers. . .
Ayl Poyraz, what are you doing with me?
To the one who poured the fire into my heart, to the one who poured it, to the one who poured it.
To the one who pours the black cauldron, the hot oil on my chest, the one who pours it, the one who pours it.
To the one who pours, to the one who pours, to the one who pours, to the one who pours hot oil on my chest.
-Every step means foreignness, every foreignness means deprivation.
How much suffering can fit into one night, child?
We have learned to cry as comrades, to add to our troubles, and that is why our looks are strange.
We became a folk song on every plectrum.
We fell out of pleasure, we became sorrowful, we became promises.
I entered the rose garden, the roses were dried.
To the one who pours on its branches, to the one who sheds, to the one who pours. . .
My thoughts have become zulfiqar in my heart.
To the one who sheds my blood in pieces, to the one who sheds it, to the one who sheds it.
Weirdness has been my companion throughout my life.
To those who cut off the ends of the roads, to those who cut the roads.
Weirdness has been my companion throughout my life.
To those who cut off the ends of the roads, to those who cut the roads.