Colors of the Wind
Judy Kuhn| Original | Versione islandese interpretata da Valgerður Guðnadóttir (f... |
| COLORS OF THE WIND You think I'm an ignorant savage And you've been so many places I guess it must be so But still I cannot see If the savage one is me How can there be so much that you don't know You don't know You think you own whatever land you land on The Earth is just a dead thing you can claim But I know every rock and tree and creature Has a life, has a spirit, has a name You think the only people who are people Are the people who look and think like you But if you walk the footsteps of a stranger You'll learn things you never knew, you never knew Have you ever heard the wolf cry to the blue corn moon Or asked the grinning bobcat why he grinned Can you sing with all the voices of the mountains Can you paint with all the colors of the wind Can you paint with all the colors of the wind Come run the hidden pine trails of the forest Come taste the sun sweet berries of the Earth Come roll in all the riches all around you And for once, never wonder what they're worth The rainstorm and the river are my brothers The heron and the otter are my friends And we are all connected to each other In a circle, in a hoop that never ends How high will the sycamore grow If you cut it down, then you'll never know And you'll never hear the wolf cry to the blue corn moon For whether we are white or copper skinned We need to sing with all the voices of the mountains We need to paint with all the colors of the wind You can own the Earth and still All you'll own is Earth until You can paint with all the colors of the wind | VINDSINS LITADÝRÐ Þið þykist geta eignað ykkur landið, sjálf jörðin metin dauðra hluta safn. En sérhver vera, sérhvert tré og klettur, á sér líf, á sér anda, á sér nafn. Þið teljið aðeins vera menn með mönnum, þá menn sem eru alveg eins og þú. En reynir þú að feta í ókunn fótspor þá finnst hve margt var óþekkt þar til nú. Berst þér úlfsins væl til eyrna þegar fullt er tungl? Veistu hvað í brosi hláturapans býr? Kannt’ að syngja söng með furðuröddu fjallsins? Kannt’ að mála mynd með vindsins litadýrð? Kannt’ að mála mynd með vindsins litadýrð? Hve hátt verður móberjatréð? Ef þú heggur það fæst ei svar við því. Þú munt aldrei heyr’ í úlfi þegar fullt er tung því hvar í veröldinni sem þú býrð, þarft’ að syngja söng með furðuröddu fjallsins, þarft’ að mála mynd með vindsins litadýrð. Þú átt heiminn hér um bil ert samt heimskur allt þar til þú kannt að mála mynd með vindsins litadýrð. |
