The present in the past

 

 

You translate for me the beauty of music

Though late to the beautiful past

You didn't forget this song

That flies in all directions.

 

I never forgot this song

Baby, my mother used to sing to me

And my brothers slept, slept

It was a song that wet the heart.

 

Today, I am a piece of this song

That spent many years flying

It's Africa's most beautiful gift

Donated to the world of various people.

 

No matter how many years have passed

The important thing is the message left

By the band Eruption to the sick universe

That walks in small steps left.

 

The sound of drum and guitar footsteps

They enchanted the skin of my father's soul

Shaking the vocalists in their perfections

Children at that time fell asleep.

 

And today, the same melody surrounds the mind

Children from the past and old people in the present

Playing, dancing to that same tune

That bodies never or never forget.

 

Everything is true in this little existence

Nothing, nothing goes out by chance. Listen!

Nothing comes to say be an iota of love

Poured into billions of sublimated faces.