NOCHD
Marcas Mac an Tuairneir

Aghaidh ri aghaidh san uinneig,
’s e air tighinn as ùr fam chomhair.
Duine cho geal ri sneachda,
fear cho balbh, fìorghlan.

Saoil am freagair e mo cheistean,
saoil an inns e dhomh carson.
nach inns e dhomh carson?

Dè an rud tha ceàrr orm?
Dè a dhèanainn fhìn as ùr?
Nam b’ urrainn dhomh a thuigsinn,
dh’fheuchainn bhith na b’ fheàrr.

Cha dèanainn fhìn a’ mhearachd,
a rinn mi ort, a-rithist.
Ach tha mi seo gun fhiosta,
is tu gun inns’.

Aghaidh ri aghaidh san uinneig,
Bilean gun mhànran beòil.
Broilleach snaidhte mìn à plastaig,
corragan gun bhrìodail gaoil.

Dè an rud tha ceàrr orm?
Dè a dhèanainn fhìn as ùr?
Nam b’ urrainn dhut a mhìneachadh,
dh’fheuchainn bhith na b’ fheàrr.

Cha dèanainn fhìn a’ mhearachd,
a rinn mi ort, a-rithist.
Ach tha mi seo gun fhiosta,
is tu gun inns.

Saoil am freagair e mo cheistean,
saoil an innis e dhomh carson.
A bheil na freagairtean na ghàirdeannan,
na chasan is na chiùineas nochd.

Saoil an innis e dhomh carson.
Saoil an innis e dhomh carson.

Dè an rud tha ceàrr orm?
Dè a dhèanainn fhìn as ùr?
Nam b’ urrainn dhomh àrachadh
dh’fheuchainn bhith na b’ fheàrr.

Cha dèanainn fhìn a’ mhearachd,
a rinn mi ort, a-rithist.
Ach tha mi seo gun fhiosta,
is tu gun inns.

Carson nach innis thu dhomh carson?
Nach innis thu dhomh carson.

NAKED
Marcas Mac an Tuairneir

Face to face in the window,
he is manifest before me.
A man as white as snow,
a man who’s mute and immaculate.

I wonder if he’ll answer my questions,
I wonder if he’ll tell me why.
Won’t he tell me why?

What is it that’s wrong with me?
What could I redo?
If only I understood,
I’d try and be better.

I wouldn’t make the same mistake
I made with you, again.
But here I am, clueless,
and you won’t tell.

Face to face in the window,
mouth and lips without a murmur.
A chest carved smooth out of plastic,
fingers without a loving caress.

What is it that’s wrong with me?
What could I redo?
If only you’d explain,
I’d try and be better.

I wouldn’t make the same mistake
I made with you, again.
But here I am, clueless,
and you won’t tell.

I wonder if he’ll answer my questions,
I wonder if he’ll tell me why.
Are the answers in his arms,
in his legs and his quiet nakedness.

I wonder if he’ll tell me why.
I wonder if he’ll tell me why.

What is it that’s wrong with me?
What could I redo?
If only I could empower myself
I’d try and be better.

I wouldn’t make the same mistake
I made with you, again.
But here I am, clueless,
and you won’t tell.

Why won’t you tell me why?
Just tell me why.
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Marcas Mac an Tuairneir
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