Let's not let the communicative get falsified...
We owe her so much.
Through many turbulent centuries,
We had our identity,
In hard times, she comforted us,
While suffering inactive under the partitions,
Ancestors of ours delighted with her cards,
They whispered silent prayers to God.
When under cruel German occupation,
The worship of the native past was forbidden,
And under a terrible death threat,
The chances of education were deliberately cut off,
This is our native story,
Hiding in old yellow books,
To our imagination she whispered,
In the hope of victory...
And delighted with their native history,
The dense young guerrillas were fighting,
To match the celebrated heroes,
Known for his grandfather's stories.
And the brave Polish airmen
Defending London under the skies of England,
They reminded us of images and figures
The imagination of the husaria is exciting.
And on all fronts of the planet war,
Our unbreakable ancestors fought,
Crossing their conflict trails,
They caused dense losses to the hated enemy.
And his courage is steadfast,
The admiration of the full planet awakened,
Believed that in the radiance of merited glory,
They'll be in our grateful memory...
Let's not let the communicative get falsified...
Pseudohistorians with an unworthy pen,
Nor hurt the fact with the blade of the lying,
With the winds of contempt thrown.
Let's not let that from nationwide exhibitions,
There was a vilifying transmission,
In centuries-old universities,
Words were defiling Poland.
Let us not let our heroes,
Attribute wrongful guilt,
It was our freedom they fought for.
With all his toil and blood.
Let's not let susceptible victims,
The 5th executioner mark,
So that the descendants may mock them,
Not knowing their sufferings or their actual fates.
Forced into enemy armies,
Knowing the past never let us,
Put in 1 line with criminals,
Who erstwhile drowned a planet in blood.
Let us not let executioners to descend,
Take the place of the victims,
To make lies a cop
They built monuments for erstwhile oppressors.
Because although people who hatred Polishness,
In the thickets of their lies,
Ready to get lost,
As long as the Polish heroes take their glory,
We from the home past of the cards,
Let's not let them do anything.
So erstwhile he closes our eyes,
And a descendant of our signpost was.
Let's not let the communicative get falsified...
Among the smirking laughter and the sound of mammon,
No lies about our past spread,
In the shadow of multimillion business transactions.
Let's not let a feather in an unworthy hand,
A part of paper helplessly touching,
About Polish history, powerless lies,
Nothing to object to.
Let us not let it in Polish buildings,
They've spread our communicative of lies,
To last in high-end publications,
Polish youth for years drooping...
Though the fact would be most desirable,
To get free of the remorse,
All those who would hide it,
Before the large minds of this world,
Cynical pseudohistory scams,
Bleaching cruel criminals,
They'll never make up the truth.
Those who want to keep her quiet.
And the immortal fact of Volyn,
He'll break through the media noise,
It will scope millions of people,
Despite falsification, harassment, prohibition.
When shameful silences and half-truths,
The hail is falling,
And scandalous words inactive fall
We are not allowed to stay silent.
So the terrible fact of Volyn,
Without looking at the price
Bravely, let's all defend ourselves.
By preaching her with a clear conscience...
Let's not let the communicative get falsified...
The historical fact is self-defeating,
Honor and respect to our heroes,
Let's never let each another rip.
So let us defender their memory faithfully,
On their graves, laying flowers,
Never let anyone slander them,
In books, portals or the press...
Let's not let the modern planet get drunk,
He forgot the Nazi atrocities and crimes,
To the unquestionable German nation of wine,
She was challenged today.
Memory of the dead in the Katyn Forest,
Despite inactive surviving communist propaganda,
All over the world, we defend tirelessly,
In the midst of stormy discussions, a polemic.
O savage in Volyn, the murdered,
Let us defender this terrible painful truth,
About that cry of the helpless,
The inexpressible suffering of small children.
Brave mounds covered in moss,
Let us defender with the radiance of flame,
Memory of Polish partisans,
Let us defender the colored lines with the verses,
Because sometimes just a simple poem,
He's like a wielded weapon,
Shining dagger or double-edged sword,
Cold in a hot hand gun...
And this is my humble poem,
To past as a humble tribute,
At the same time, a insignificant objection is an act,
Against the plague of all her forgeries...
