Thursday, June 15, 2006

Ghana Jones (Counting Crows)

Language: Russian

In one of those inexplicable Babelfishy things, "Mister Jones" came up "Ghana Jones" in a couple places, when I put the lyrics in, so I made this his name throughout.
I never cared all that much for the original song one way or the other, though I bought the album so maybe I'm misremembering my enthusiasm for the song. In any case, I certainly didn't pay any attention to the lyrical obsessiveness about beauty: I was more interested in the gray guitar.


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I was down on the New Amsterdam
staring at this yellow-hair.
Through negotiation, Ghana Jones strikes the girl
with this black-haired flamenco dancer.
Her father plays guitar. Thus far, she dances, which it was
unexpectedly beautiful. It's
something we want, beautiful. Everything they
desire was beautiful. I
dance through the morning, therefore this silence comes
to cut Maria off: downward, upward.
Some of their Spanish dances are shown to me,
passed to me as a bottle, by Mr. Jones.

Belief in myself
helps me to believe anything. In
it is someone I want to be, who believes me.
Speak to Ghana Jones, and I stare: fairy tales,
on the most beautiful women.
"She sees you not. Ah. She sees me not."

You, smiling bright in the lights,
coming into the stereo end to
be lonely. You cannot love it, when you each
paint yourselves. You will never color my image, I of the
sulfur. The blue in color, redly and blackly,
colors all of the most beautiful,
which will be very very meaningful.
My favorite color is mostly gray:
yesterday it felt symbolic. I'm this
guitar I would purchase. Picasso, he knew then: if I (by gray)
even look into the future, I game Ghana Jones.
The most beautiful women stare on:
"I don't think so. You look at it. I'll look at myself."
To stand it, in the headlight,
I purchased a gray guitar:
it will fall in love with me. I will never not be lonely when each one
wants to be my lion. I
want to pass as a tomcat: each one he
obtained want to be large large stars.

We reason differently,
but for us, they're everything that believes because I don't.
I believe in anything. In myself, we
want to be necessary, to believe someone, and I am.
Mr. Jones and I stumble through the region
(itself the most beautiful women); oh yeah, we will stare at it.
Are you there, man? Someone will perfect us, for which I obtained it.
"That's it for want: I desire someone funky."
"She was to be, a little. . . ."
Bob, the son of Ghana Jones, will fall in love with you when she's by Dylan.
Ghana Jones can be funky, in proportion to you. Each one is nearly as valid as whom?
When I look at the television, I (on video) will myself be staring.
(I want to back that correctly: I stared at me, saw myself,
in order to be large stars.) We all want to,
but we do not know – we do not know why, as we
fall in love with each. (When I will it.) But
I'm valid, nearly happy, in proportion to myself. It can be as it's to be.
By my and Ghana Jones' will, we were gonna be large stars . . .

1 comment:

David Amulet said...

Wow. This one is tops for imagination, that's for sure!

-- david