Kim Yideum
YOUR CHORUS
Your song stirs me and makes me sway more than ever.
You look down, smiling, and sing your heart out.
I am wrapped in white lace swaddling clothes.
I sway and say, Very good man, swing, swing!
Your song is a curry sausage, a burnt toast.
I’m a fish, chasing after breadcrumbs from one surface to another.
Your song is a dead bird on my pillow.
You leave a chorus of darkness on my face, so I won’t wake up.
I won’t interrupt, I won’t cause any more scenes,
Your song is a dead rat on my pillow.
There’s something endlessly beautiful about a rat’s guts.
You climb up to my mattress
with a face like a cherry cake soaked in water.
You bend over and row the boat.
I fall into the water and can’t breathe.
Like it?
Mmmm
Wanna touch?
Can I cum?
Mmhmm
Like a fish on display with a gaping mouth, I can’t get my eyes to open. You rummage through my heart and guts, listen to my innards, and sniff them. You’ll leave me whether I pretend to be asleep or not.
Yet again your song sways me, stirs me. Moreover, even now, you kneel beside my damp mattress and caress my forehead. Your song is a dead rat on my pillow. The rat’s guts squirm with sugar pearls. Your song streams into my ears, sifts through my heart and guts, grabs my waist, then goes up to my brain. O my love, please rest. I’m a mattress that quivers, drifting from the surface to surface. I listen to the chorus : Try again all of you! Sing in unison as through one mouth! It’ll be okay. Pat, pat. Your chorus is a zipper, a caress that zips up from the bottom of my feet to the top of my head.
JE REFREIN
Je lied schudt me door elkaar, het schudt harder dan ooit.
Je kijkt op me neer, lacht naar me en zingt uit volle borst.
Gewikkeld in een draagdoek van wit kant zeg ik, Swing, swing, very good man!
Je lied is een curryworst, een halfverbrande tosti.
Ik ben een vis die het wateroppervlak afstruint, op jacht naar neerdalende broodkruimels.
Je lied is een dode vogel op mijn hoofdkussen.
Het zwarte refrein dat je opzij hebt gelegd uit angst om mij te wekken.
Ik stoor je niet. Ik maak geen lawaai. Je lied is een dode rat op mijn hoofdkussen.
Er is iets buitengewoon mooi aan de ingewanden van een dode rat.
Je klimt op mijn matras
met een gezicht als een doorweekte kersentaart.
Je leunt voorover, roeien maar.
Ik ga kopje onder, krijg geen lucht.
Vind je het lekker?
Uh-huh
Wil je voelen?
Mag ik klaarkomen?
Uh-hmm
Ik voel me als een vis van de markt met zijn mond op halfzeven en krijg mijn ogen niet open. Je rommelt in mijn borst, mijn buik, luistert naar mijn ingewanden, snuffelt eraan. Als ik doe alsof ik slaap verlaat je me. Als ik daadwerkelijk in slaap val verlaat je me.
En weer schudt je lied me door elkaar, het schudt harder dan ooit. Je knielt naast mijn zompige matras en streelt mijn voorhoofd. Je lied is een dode rat op mijn hoofdkussen. In zijn buik krioelt het van de parelsuiker. Je lied stroomt mijn oren binnen, glijdt langs mijn borst, mijn buik, grijpt mijn heupen vast en stijgt naar mijn hoofd. O mijn lief, rust wat uit. Ik ben een matras die de hele dag op het fonkelende wateroppervlak drijft. Ik luister aandachtig naar het refrein. Nog eens vanaf het begin, allemaal samen! Als één stem! Jullie kunnen het. Klap, klap. Je refrein, een rits die omhoog wordt getrokken en me van top tot teen streelt.
당신의 코러스
당신의 노래가 나를 흔드네 나를 흔들어 심지어 지금에 와서도
나를 내려다보며 내게 미소 지으며 나를 위해 노력한다 노래하네 하얀 레이스 강보에 싸여 나는 베리 굿 맨 스윙스윙 흔들거리네
당신의 노래는 커리 소시지 반쯤 탄 빵
나는 떨어지는 빵 부스러기를 따라 수면에서 수면으로 이동하는 물고기
당신의 노래는 머리맡에 죽은 새
내가 깰까 봐 얹어놓은 검은 코러스
나는 방해하지 않네 더 이상 소란 피우지 않아 당신의 노래는 내 머리맡에 죽은 쥐
죽은 쥐의 배 속에 까마득히 아름다운 거
당신은 내 매트리스 위로 기어올라와 물에 젖은 체리 케이크 같은 얼굴로
몸을 굽히고 노를 저어
난 수면에 빠져 숨을 쉴 수 없는데
좋아?
음
만져볼래?
사정해도 돼?
음
아가리를 벌린 진열대 생선처럼 난 눈이 안 떠지네 내 심장과 배를 훑고 귀를 기울이다 냄새를 맡아 내가 잠든 척하면 당신은 떠나겠지 아예 잠들면 당신은 떠나겠지
또다시 당신의 노래는 나를 흔드네 날 흔들어 심지어 지금에 와서도 절고 축축한 매트리스에 무릎 꿇고 내 이마를 쓰다듬지 당신의 노래는 머리맡에 죽은 쥐 그 배 속에 우글거리는 슈거볼 같은 거 귓속으로 밀려와 내 심장과 배를 훑고 허리를 잡고 뇌로 올라와 오 나의 사랑 이제 그만 쉬어라 난 온종일 가물가물 수면에서 수면으로 흘러가는 매트리스 당신의 코러스가 내게 귀를 기울이지 당신들의 노래 모두 한 입술로 다시 해봐 잘 될 거야 토닥토닥 내 발아래에서 머리끝으로 애무하듯 끌어올리는 이 지퍼 당신의 코러스
YOUR CHORUS
Your song stirs me and makes me sway more than ever.
You look down, smiling, and sing your heart out.
I am wrapped in white lace swaddling clothes.
I sway and say, Very good man, swing, swing!
Your song is a curry sausage, a burnt toast.
I’m a fish, chasing after breadcrumbs from one surface to another.
Your song is a dead bird on my pillow.
You leave a chorus of darkness on my face, so I won’t wake up.
I won’t interrupt, I won’t cause any more scenes,
Your song is a dead rat on my pillow.
There’s something endlessly beautiful about a rat’s guts.
You climb up to my mattress
with a face like a cherry cake soaked in water.
You bend over and row the boat.
I fall into the water and can’t breathe.
Like it?
Mmmm
Wanna touch?
Can I cum?
Mmhmm
Like a fish on display with a gaping mouth, I can’t get my eyes to open. You rummage through my heart and guts, listen to my innards, and sniff them. You’ll leave me whether I pretend to be asleep or not.
Yet again your song sways me, stirs me. Moreover, even now, you kneel beside my damp mattress and caress my forehead. Your song is a dead rat on my pillow. The rat’s guts squirm with sugar pearls. Your song streams into my ears, sifts through my heart and guts, grabs my waist, then goes up to my brain. O my love, please rest. I’m a mattress that quivers, drifting from the surface to surface. I listen to the chorus : Try again all of you! Sing in unison as through one mouth! It’ll be okay. Pat, pat. Your chorus is a zipper, a caress that zips up from the bottom of my feet to the top of my head.
YOUR CHORUS
Your song stirs me and makes me sway more than ever.
You look down, smiling, and sing your heart out.
I am wrapped in white lace swaddling clothes.
I sway and say, Very good man, swing, swing!
Your song is a curry sausage, a burnt toast.
I’m a fish, chasing after breadcrumbs from one surface to another.
Your song is a dead bird on my pillow.
You leave a chorus of darkness on my face, so I won’t wake up.
I won’t interrupt, I won’t cause any more scenes,
Your song is a dead rat on my pillow.
There’s something endlessly beautiful about a rat’s guts.
You climb up to my mattress
with a face like a cherry cake soaked in water.
You bend over and row the boat.
I fall into the water and can’t breathe.
Like it?
Mmmm
Wanna touch?
Can I cum?
Mmhmm
Like a fish on display with a gaping mouth, I can’t get my eyes to open. You rummage through my heart and guts, listen to my innards, and sniff them. You’ll leave me whether I pretend to be asleep or not.
Yet again your song sways me, stirs me. Moreover, even now, you kneel beside my damp mattress and caress my forehead. Your song is a dead rat on my pillow. The rat’s guts squirm with sugar pearls. Your song streams into my ears, sifts through my heart and guts, grabs my waist, then goes up to my brain. O my love, please rest. I’m a mattress that quivers, drifting from the surface to surface. I listen to the chorus : Try again all of you! Sing in unison as through one mouth! It’ll be okay. Pat, pat. Your chorus is a zipper, a caress that zips up from the bottom of my feet to the top of my head.
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