This song means a lot to me. It’s Halia by Foivos Delivorias, which is itself a cover of Invitation to the Blues by Tom Waits. The Greek lyrics in this version feel like pure poetry if you understand the language.
Lately I’ve been thinking about covers. I’ve always struggled with the idea of doing them myself — it feels like I’m not really improving the song, just performing a version that already exists, poorly. And yet, it’s always felt amazing to play them for myself or for friends. So I’ve decided: why not do them anyway? Maybe it’s a way of sharing the songs that shaped me with whoever listens.
Still, every time I post a video of myself performing (which is rare), I wonder if I’ll ever be able to watch and listen without harsh judgment. When I hear my voice, I zero in on every imperfection. But as I keep posting, I’m starting to notice some of the good qualities too. I’m curious if I’ll ever be able to listen to myself the way a stranger might — without the criticism, just hearing the music.
lyrics (english below)
Κοιταξέ την πώς σερβίρει
Πιο λευκή κι απ' την ποδιά της
Πως κρατάει ψηλά τον δίσκο
Και την αξιοπρέπειά της
Ροδανθός μες στα ρεμάλια
Και Θεά μες στους θνητούς
Η παγίδα για να γίνεις πάλι χάλια
Που ήδη νιώθεις σαν τον Cagney
Μπροστά στη Rita Hayworth
Μες στην τσίκνα μιας υπόγειας ζωής
Διερωτάσαι αν είναι μόνη
Αν φοβάται αν θυμώνει
Θα σου δώσει κάποιο σήμα
Μείνε κι άλλο και θα δεις
Σε ρωτάει "Θα πιείτε κάτι;"
Και το ακούς σαν να 'ναι ποίημα
Λες "Δεν ξέρω ό, τι να 'ναι όπως να 'ναι"
Θα 'ναι κρίμα να στην πάρει κάποιος άλλος
Ενώ εσύ πρωτος αισθάνθηκες του βυθού της τα κοράλια
Μα ίσως πάλι όλα αυτά
Να είναι κόλπο για να γίνεις πάλι χάλια
Look at the way she serves—
whiter even than her apron,
holding the tray up high,
holding her dignity even higher.
A wildflower among the riffraff,
a goddess among mortals.
She’s the trap that pulls you back into the mess
you’re already in—
and you feel like Cagney
standing in front of Rita Hayworth,
all in the smoke and grease
of an underground life.
You catch yourself wondering:
Is she alone?
Is she scared?
Does she ever get angry?
Will she give you some kind of sign?
Stay a little longer and maybe you’ll see.
She asks, “Would you like something to drink?”
and you hear it as if it were poetry.
You say, “I don’t know… anything, whatever,”
thinking it’d be a shame
if someone else got to her first—
when you’re the one who felt
the corals hidden in her depths.
But maybe all of this
is just another trick
to leave you wrecked again.