Jacek Kaczmarski - Quasimodo

The cathedral in the enemy's hands
Death, hunger, bloody victims
The patient nation at the thresholds
at the doors shut closed

The enemy pulled the ropes
so the bell would start to lie
But the expected knell
didn't fall from above

For the hunchback hangs at its clapper
and beats his scungy dome against the gunmetal
Resounding, in the unsuspected silence,
is his neither cackle nor moan
He values the clear bell sounds
They straighten his hunched fate out
So when seeing someone had grabbed the rope
he took the gentleman's voice away

So the vicious storm is born
by both the crowded square and the pile
The enemy at the rope curses
So does the crowd in tears

Free the bell, you monster
Nothing to eat and drink
Satiate yourself with faith
Let the bells ring at least

As long as the enemy's hand touches the rope
may the vain anger roar in the aisles
I'll keep hanging at the Lord's tongue
till one of us has enough
But even when hell fire reaches me,
the row of the sacred figures will testify
that one hunchback didn't budge
among the degrading curses