Akurat - Do prostego człowieka

When again to the walls with fresh paste
They start sticking announcements
When “To the populace”, “To the soldiers”
The black print sounds the alarm
And any thug and any brat
Believes in their eternal lie
That one must go and fire the cannons
Murder, plunder, poison, and burn
When they start, in a thousandth manner
To tear the homeland with declensions
And deceive with a colorful emblem
And incite with “Historical reason”
About inches, glory, and borders
About fathers, grandfathers, and banners
About heroes and sacrifices
About heroes and sacrifices
When the bishop, pastor, rabbi comes
To bless your rifle
For God Himself whispered from heaven
That for the homeland – one must fight
When the scream spreads, vulgar and wild
Of letters from the front pages of newspapers
And a herd of wild women – with flowers
Starts pelting the “little soldiers”

– Oh, unlearned friend
My fellow from this or another land!
Know that the bells are tolling in fear
Kings with fat-bellied lords
Know that it's all a hoax, a regular swindle
When they cry to you: “Shoulder arms!”
That somewhere oil spurted from the ground
And it bore fruit in dollars
That something isn't adding up in their banks
That somewhere they sniffed out full coffers
Or fat scoundrels have spotted
Some thicker tariff on cotton
Strike with your rifle on the pavement!
Your blood is yours, and theirs is the oil!
And from capital to capital
Cry out, defending your hard-earned blood:
“It's us who spin tales, gentlemen nobles!”
“It's us who spin tales, gentlemen nobles!”
“It's us who spin tales, gentlemen nobles!”
“It's us who spin tales, gentlemen nobles!”

– Oh, unlearned friend
My fellow from this or another land!
Know that the bells are tolling in fear
Kings with fat-bellied lords
Know that it's all a hoax, a regular swindle
When they cry to you: “Shoulder arms!”
That somewhere oil spurted from the ground
And it bore fruit in dollars
That something isn't adding up in their banks
That somewhere they sniffed out full coffers
Or fat scoundrels have spotted
Some thicker tariff on cotton
Strike with your rifle on the pavement!
Your blood is yours, and theirs is the oil!
And from capital to capital
Cry out, defending your hard-earned blood:
“It's us who spin tales, gentlemen nobles!”
“It's us who spin tales, gentlemen nobles!”
“It's us who spin tales, gentlemen nobles!”
“It's us who spin tales, gentlemen nobles!”
“It's us who spin tales, gentlemen nobles!”
“It's us who spin tales, gentlemen nobles!”
“It's us who spin tales, gentlemen nobles!”
“It's us who spin tales, gentlemen nobles!”