yeah super chilled out, can't understand the lyrics but that's okay.

yeah super chilled out, can't understand the lyrics but that's okay.

I can translate: It's a song about hiding out in the kindergarden at night to smoke ganja

We go hiding behind the house in the kindergarden / to have a good time, just the three of us
And we sit in our usual formation: three in a row, looking at a graffitti wall
Fingernem rolls and Torsken rubs, while I make the filter with a "W"
It's very important to have a "W"-filter, because it makes the air glide smoothly through
and we sit there as Spøkelseskladden (The Phantom Blot) awakens

(and then something about the light from the tip of the blunt shining a light onto the hills behind and into our beautiful minds as a whole new world reveals itself, which is the same but different, giving a magic touch to the words we exchange and the melodies we create.
Then we get a bit frightened by a car parking a bit too close for comfort, we get a feeling Spøkelseskladden might come out of the graffitti wall and also get too close for comfort.
So we go home to eat, a bit shaken and exhausted but still under the influence of some sort of brilliance and sensitivity, so that eating bread with cheese becomes an event in which we experience nuances and sides to the physical world that has hitherto gone undetected.).

I can translate: It's a song about hiding out in the kindergarden at night to smoke ganja We go hiding behind the house in the kindergarden / to have a good time, just the three of us And we sit in our usual formation: three in a row, looking at a graffitti wall Fingernem rolls and Torsken rubs, while I make the filter with a "W" It's very important to have a "W"-filter, because it makes the air glide smoothly through and we sit there as Spøkelseskladden (The Phantom Blot) awakens (and then something about the light from the tip of the blunt shining a light onto the hills behind and into our beautiful minds as a whole new world reveals itself, which is the same but different, giving a magic touch to the words we exchange and the melodies we create. Then we get a bit frightened by a car parking a bit too close for comfort, we get a feeling Spøkelseskladden might come out of the graffitti wall and also get too close for comfort. So we go home to eat, a bit shaken and exhausted but still under the influence of some sort of brilliance and sensitivity, so that eating bread with cheese becomes an event in which we experience nuances and sides to the physical world that has hitherto gone undetected.).

Like it. Like the nostalgia.

Like it. Like the nostalgia.

Takk for historien!

Takk for historien!