Мокко fm - Датилан
текст песни

Vietnam is a country that we can hardly understand,
The place where the sounds of a fighting fire are remembered,
Only there and nowhere are there no more professions of those
Which are only talked about in a whisper,
One of these is the bone washer.
Her name is Datilan.
Holy honors the old rite,
Worked on tea plantations,
Midwife, in rice fields,
Now he washes the bones of the dead,
Only three years after death
The soul reaches its end.

She is already eight decades,
The first husband left, died the second,
She herself opened his coffin,
The remains of the flesh was cut off with a bamboo,
That's what real flour means
That's what hell means on earth.

Of the six children there are three left,
The biographies of those who have departed are a maternal cry,
One died in childhood, the other in the war with China,
Daughter there in sexual slavery,
Her fate is covered
Gloomy is the mystery.

So Datilan lives,
Washes bones at night, afraid of terrible dreams,
From all this story, I made one thing,
We always complain that work is not for us,
Forever lacking extra money,
But while you wear a jacket in your office,
Somewhere there is far under the moon of Vietnam,
The old woman washes the bones to the dead.
While we are always unhappy,
So far, we are always few.