I think I died. Close my eyes - I see.
I think I died: shy, and then -
Where do I care about her! She was in Paris,
And yesterday I learned - not only in it alone.
What are the songs I sang to her about the Far North!
I thought: that’s a little bit - and we would be on "you".
But I was wrong to sing about the neutral zone -
She is deeply do not care what sort of flowers.
I sang then - I thought it was closer -
About the South and about the man who had been with her.
But what is it to me! She was in Paris,
She was very Marcel Marceau something said.
I threw my plant, though in general, was not entitled,
Sat down to dictionaries on the conscience and the fear
But what is it before! She was in Warsaw,
Once again we speak different languages...
Coming down - I say in Polish: "Please, lady,
Take this as it is, I will not sing!"
But what is it to me! - It is already in Iran -
I understand - I followed her, of course, not enough.
She’s here today, and tomorrow will be a donkey -
Yes, I got a mess, yes, I got in trouble!
Who had been with her and one who will come after -
Let them try. I’d rather wait out.