Mono — Paroles et traduction des paroles de la chanson Pure as Snow (Trails of the Winter Storm)
La page contient les paroles et la traduction française de la chanson « Pure as Snow (Trails of the Winter Storm) » de Mono.
Paroles
Under the cold weight of snow, the earth will finally hibernate.
It is the miracle of winter. Flakes fall as if they were sent to pause time
before the seasons begin again. Some are clumsy, some are graceful,
but each knows its landing place on the earth.
The only movement here is that of a young woman searching through the braided
pine branches for an opening. Her white dress is camouflaged against the snow.
Lost in this dream chamber, she moves through the white powder,
running her hands through it to awaken her memory.
Parting the branches, she follows an open path cleared before her,
swerving its way to a stone bridge adorned with icicles. Someone is waiting
for her there, a gray figure, a stranger, watching her through the shower of
white between them. They are uncertain of why they have come but they both long
to be here. Although she cannot recognize his face, she knows him somehow.
As they stand together, a single ray of light grows from behind,
wrapping them in its warmth until they dissipate into it. When she awakes,
a cloud of winter air still floats above her. It was just a dream again.
On this morning, a man awakes from the same dream, one that reoccurred so often
that he felt incomplete without it at times. It haunted him. When his eyes
closed, her face still appeared before him, but not one that he could recognize.
His oldest memory was of being an infant sitting before his family,
unable to speak or walk on his own. He cried for days and nights,
his small fists clenched, until one day he couldn’t remember why he was so sad
anymore. Along with the other children, he learned to laugh and run again.
This became his new life, and everything before then seemed no longer his.
The man watches swelling clouds from his window and cannot help but anticipate
the arrival of something today. Bodies bustle their way past him as he sits
outdoors, but they are like shadows murmuring to one another. They float by
unnoticed as his eyes only fall upon a young woman, dressed in white,
who stands behind the crowd. He feels comforted, almost relieved by the sight
of her, and longs to be near her.
Their eyes lock, a strange longing glance that could not be severed by anything
at that moment. Her eyes are like two deep wells of stories, perhaps one he may
have heard before. They appear dewy, prepared to overflow.
In the distance, church bells ring. The humming noise and motion of the world
seep back in to disturb their peace. If she is a mirage, she will disappear
soon, he thinks. But she remains there, motionless. This time is not a dream.
With a final glance at him, the woman slowly vanishes into the sea of bodies.
A steady downpour of snow ripples in the wind until he cannot see anything but
the movement of white. Chaotic, like a surge of emotion, and yet pure, white,
and delicate, the snowstorm remains an enigma to him. As he tastes the
snowfall, he sees a single ray of light piercing through a cloud,
and he cannot help but smile.
Traduction des paroles
dehors, mais ils sont comme des ombres murmurant les uns aux autres. Ils flottent
inaperçu que ses yeux tombent sur une jeune femme, vêtue de blanc,
qui se tient derrière la foule. Il se sent réconforté, presque soulagé par la vue
de son, et aspire à être près d'elle.
Leurs yeux se verrouillent, un regard nostalgique étrange qui ne pouvait être coupé par quoi que ce soit
à ce moment-là. Ses yeux sont comme deux puits profonds d'histoires, peut-être celui qu'il peut
l'avez entendu auparavant. Ils semblent rosés, prêts à déborder.
Au loin, les cloches de l'église sonnent. Le ronronnement et le mouvement du monde
s'infiltrer dans à troubler leur paix. Si elle est un mirage, elle disparaîtra
bientôt, il pense. Mais elle reste là, immobile. Ce temps n'est pas un rêve.
Avec un dernier regard sur lui, la femme disparaît lentement dans la mer des corps.
Une averse constante de neige ondule dans le vent jusqu'à ce qu'il ne puisse rien voir mais
le mouvement de blanc. Chaotique, comme une vague d'émotion, et pourtant, pur, blanc,
et délicate, la tempête de neige reste pour lui une énigme. Comme il goûte le
chute de neige, il voit un seul rayon de lumière percer à travers un nuage,
et il ne peut s'empêcher de sourire.