I think I bit the dust; I lost my pitch and vision;
I think I bit the dust; I lost my nerve and sense.
She’s much too good for me - She’d even been to Paris! -
And other places too - it’s only commonsense.
The songs I used to sing for her of Northern lights and snowstorms!
I thought: a few more days and then, we’ll switch from "you" to "thou"!
A wasted effort on my part - I brought her only boredom:
She didn’t care for winter then, and doesn’t like it now.
So then I sang of other things, of things she may hold dearer:
Of Southern lands and Southern men who’ve been with her been before.
Why should she care for me when she had been to Paris?
Compared to suitors past, I must be quite a bore.
My private life became a wreck, my workplace even more so
I studied dusty grammar texts instead of writing songs.
But what’s my pain to her? She’s now gone to Warsaw.
And once again the two of us can’t find a common tongue.
When she returns, I’ll bend my knee and plead with her in Polish:
Accept me, pani, as I am - I love you more than song!
She spares no thought for me - She’s on her way to Jordan
It’s plain to me that our paths will never cross for long.
Today she’s here with me; tomorrow she’ll be elsewhere;
Yes, I am in a dreadful fix; yes, I am in a plight!
The men who courted her before, perhaps they had the answer,
Let others fret and sweat: I’d rather wait than fight.