However, in the current situation, a post like this might be relevant to at least a few people.
There are plenty of Czech songs that reflect on the invasion of 1968, and I picked this one because I believe it reflects perfectly on current events as well. History repeats itself, unfortunately.
That being said, our Ukrainian brothers are putting up a fight that we were not capable of, they are the true heroes. The men who put their lives at risk at the front, the women who are strong enough to leave their husbands behind and take a step into the unknown, moving their children to a foreign country, often without any contact there, and everybody else who are just trying to survive in what looks like an apocalypse.
Sláva Ukrajině!
The song is a cover of Hugues Aufray's Le joueur de pipeau (The Pied Piper), Czech text was written by Ivo Fischer. It was recorded just a year before the invasion of the Warsaw Pact (mostly Soviet) armies in 1968, and it is harrowing in retrospect. And in present times, alas.
Měl šedej plášť, kočičí krok, smutnou tvář,
He had a grey cloak, a catlike stride, a sad face,
za pasem nůž a vedle něj kříž a snář.
A knife on his belt, and next to it, a crucifix and a book of dreams.
Ten piják hvězd na stovkách cest polykal prach.
That drunkard of stars, on hundreds of paths, he's swallowed dust.
Tisíce mil, krysař to byl a já ho znal,
Thousands of miles, he was a rat-catcher, and I knew him,
píšťalku měl, šel kudy chtěl dál a dál,
He had a pipe, he walked where he wanted, further and further,
tisíce mil, krysař to byl a šel z něj strach.
Thousands of miles, he was a rat-catcher, and he oozed fear.
Šel a kam stoup, vyrost jak sloup k nebi dým,
He walked and where he stepped, there grew, like a pillar, smoke to the sky,
na tisíc mil, krysař to byl, já to vím,
for a thousand miles, he was a rat-catcher, I know that,
šedivej plášť, kočičí krok, podivnej hráč.
a grey cloak, a catlike stride, a shady player.
Píšťalku měl, šel kudy chtěl, dál a dál
He had a pipe, he walked where he wanted, further and further
a každej tón, každičkej tón, kterej hrál,
And every note, every single note that he played,
znamenal smrt, znamenal žal, znamenal pláč.
Meant death, meant sorrow, meant grief.
Hrál slovo “my” a “naše vlast”, “mír” a “čest”
He played the word "we" and "our country", "peace" and "honour"
a myslel “vy” a “vaše krev”, “válka”, “pěst”,
Yet he meant "you" and "your blood", "war", "a fist",
co musel znát, co uměl hrát svůdnejch not.
How many he must have known, how many he could play alluring tunes.
Co divnejch slok, co divnejch slok dlouze hrál
How many strange verses, how many strange verses he played at length
a z každý z nich hořící vích hořce řval:
And from each one of them, a burning wisp was bitterly bellowing:
nastoupit v řad, na rámě, zbraň, pochodem v chod!
Fall in, port arms, march!
Teď je tu zas, kočičí krok, smutná tvář,
Now he's back, a catlike stride, a sad face,
za pasem nůž a vedle něj kříž a snář,
A knife on his belt, and next to it, a crucifix and a book of dreams.
slyším ho hrát, je to ten tón tenčí než vlas.
I can hear him play, it is the tone [softer] thinner than a hair.
To v kostech měst začíná kvést bílej prach,
It's the white dust that's beginning to bloom in the bones of cities,
píšťalka zní a všichni z ní máme strach,
A pipe sounds, and we are all scared of it,
že přijde čas, kdy se ten hlas ozve i v nás.
That a time will come, when that tone will sound inside us, too.
Vím, chodí dál, tak jako dřív, prachem cest,
I know, he keeps walking, like before, through the dust of the roads,
já jsem ho znal, krysař to byl, piják hvězd,
I knew him, he was a rat-catcher, a drunkard on stars,
píšťalku má, křížek a snář, šedivej šat,
He has a pipe, a crucifix and a book of dreams, grey attire,
a mně se zdá, a mně se zdá, že už je čas
And to me it seems, to me it seems it is time
říct mu už dost, říct mu: už dost! Vem tě ďas!
To tell him: Enough! Go to hell!
To je náš svět a krysí jed nechcem už brát!
This is our world, and we no longer want to take rat poison!
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