I'M TALKING TO YOU ABOUT THE kid OF THIS WIFE...

I'm talking to you.

A kid of this earth!

I'm talking to you, Landlord!

Deceaser of the past of our tribe

What you stand lost in the mediate of Europe

Be chrobry and perceive to the Polish conscience

Remember that word like a tight string

It always trembled with harmony in Decalogue cards

So that everyone can say “the 1 from my homeland”

I admit him from the scars erstwhile he cries on the threshold

And erstwhile she comes home, she's torn from her delusions.

And with a sack of contempt he kisses stones

This is from my homeland in which he rose from the dead.

And the willow conscience overcame

Who goes and carries the shadow of confessional

At the altar of the Fatherland in the light of forgiveness

Where so many Polish saints in focus give

White Polish wafers at the minute of transformation

I'm talking to you, Landlord.

Heir of the past of Our Nation

To whom in past and shield... and sword... and home

What survived in the storm...the walls of the Decalogue!