Reza Yazdani — Cafe Roya song lyrics and translation
The page contains the lyrics and English translation of the song "Cafe Roya" by Reza Yazdani.
Lyrics
کافه ی خاطره بازی پره از قصه و رویاست
همه ی فکرام پریشون بورس خاطره همینجاست
آدماش بیدارن اما تو بیداری خواب میبینن
چشماتو ببند و گوش کن به صدای خسته ی من
یکیشون فکرِ تئاتره طرفای لاله زاره
اون یکی فکر سکانسِ آخره یه مشت دلاره
یکی گیجه شعر شاملو وسط دفتر آیدا
یکی داغه سینما رکس وقتی اکرانه گوزن ها
یکی زخمی رفاقت با یه سینه ی پر خون
اونکه عاشقِ تو فکر قصه لیلی و مجنون
یکی فکر بوف کور و مرگ صادق هدایت
آخ چقدر خاطره داره روزگار بی مروت
داره پیرت میکنه غبار سرده خاطره
دست رو دستات گذاشتی و شب از سرت نمیگذره
چینیِ نازک رویات پر صدتا ترکِ
کاش میفهمیدی این زندگی نیست فلاش بکه
یکی فکر عطر بارون توی جاده ی شمالِ
اون یکی مست خیاله سهراب و رستم و زالِ
یکی تو فکر مصدق زخم 28 مرداد
اون یکی تو فکر شعره یه شب مهتاب فرهاد
یکی به یاد عزیزش خسته از اینهمه دوری
یکی فکر شعله های شبای چارشنبه سوری
یکی فکر جنگ و نفت و خاطره های جنوبه
یکی خسته از توهم مشتش رو رو میز میکوبه
داره پیرت میکنه غبار سرد خاطره
دست رو دستات گذاشتی و شب از سرت نمیگذره
چینیِ نازک رویات پر صدتا ترکِ
کاش میفهمیدی این زندگی نیست فلاش بکه
Lyrics translation
The memory cafe of the game is full of stories and dreams
That's all I can think about.
His people are awake, but they dream in awakening.
Close your eyes and listen to my tired voice.
One of them thinks of the theater on the side of the tulip.
The other one is a bunch of bucks at the end of the sequence.
One dizzy poem shamlu middle of Aida office
One hot Cinema Rex when acronyms deer
A wounded camaraderie with a bloody chest.
He loves you, Lily and the madman.
One thought guided the Blind Owl and the Honest death
Ow, that's a memory. you're an asshole.
It's getting old. it's cold.
You put your hands on your hands and you're not going through the night.
Chinese thin dreams filled hundreds of cracks
I wish you knew it wasn't life. it's flashbacks.
Somebody's thinking about the rain on the North Road.
The other drunk Sohrab and Rustam and Zal fantasy
Somebody's thinking about the wound, August 28th.
The other one's thinking about poetry one night, Moonlight Farhad.
One remembers his beloved, tired of being so far away.
One thought of the flames of the Syrian Wednesday nights
One thought of war and oil and southern memories
Somebody's tired of hallucinating his fist on the table.
It's getting old. it's cold mist.
You put your hands on your hands and you're not going through the night.
Chinese thin dreams filled hundreds of cracks
I wish you knew it wasn't life. it's flashbacks.