Angels and Stones...
I'm afraid we're cynical.
Someone like before and now will lie
And that we'd be silenced
An empty word and a tree and a stone
That they'd give us a resume again.
And in context, they're going to cross our words.
The face will be on the pages of the pale
To be like a plaster mask...
And we'll be silent for years
Under the shroud of deadly white
Abandoned in a Dumpster of History
Until the gag in us burned down...
There will be no miracle over the Vistula
Time will have no mercy on us
Once a 1000 years.
Such a miracle of freedom
The second time God won't give us the Pope
Prints erstwhile The Golden home won't call
This is the second time we won't break the nails
Bloodied Hands
There will be no miracle over the Vistula
We'll have our brains and pain.
And angels turned into stones
Scattered among Polish fields...
