It's like we're moving out of country.
The wind continues to dispel names, boundaries in the earth
We're inactive looking at the faces from the pictures in the cemetery.
With time worth, with a fight for salvation released
possibly generations won't come for us anymore.
Incast and tears will not request to be shed
There will be no female hen look ships
possibly Poland's underground dream of us was vain
Rivers flowing next door – bodies no longer wash
The Tatras will refuse to support the stubborn
In goose speech, they will simplify the entrenched Polish
Marrying with the sea will yet renounce the Baltic
Well, Poland is not to die as long as we live
However, this is not the case for him to last the digestive system
So, Polish souls, we feed the victim of death.
Until God removes the seal of bondage to the stone
Wojciech Miotke
