0:004:00
The Shoutinh Men live im Lofthouse in Dresden, 17. Juni 2011
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v5k55EFT-2Y
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v5k55EFT-2Y
I’m walking through the streets of Sarajevo
as the sun is going down.
I’m breathing in – looking at all these colours
and I hear the city’s sound.
The past can’t be denied
’cause its written on every wall.
I close my eyes.
I cannot to hide.
Showcases and neon letters
inspire western needs.
People are passing by in common fever.
Wrong mothers are bagging in the streets.
The past can’t be denied
’cause its written on every wall.
I close my eyes.
I cannot to hide.
The everyday life is blooming between traces of war
And these traces are fading more and more.
The city’s dealing with history literally.
Bullets become kitsch, seems to me like a strange kind of poetry.
The past can’t be denied
’cause its written on every wall.
I close my eyes.
I cannot to hide from the city.
as the sun is going down.
I’m breathing in – looking at all these colours
and I hear the city’s sound.
The past can’t be denied
’cause its written on every wall.
I close my eyes.
I cannot to hide.
Showcases and neon letters
inspire western needs.
People are passing by in common fever.
Wrong mothers are bagging in the streets.
The past can’t be denied
’cause its written on every wall.
I close my eyes.
I cannot to hide.
The everyday life is blooming between traces of war
And these traces are fading more and more.
The city’s dealing with history literally.
Bullets become kitsch, seems to me like a strange kind of poetry.
The past can’t be denied
’cause its written on every wall.
I close my eyes.
I cannot to hide from the city.
