Koniec Świata - Blues o Robotniczej Krwi

At the crack of dawn, when the tram rings
He gets up tired and washes face
Two slices with butter and a sausage
To get in time to the working place

The moon keeps him company
Before sun wakes up finally
He's passing through streets he knows
He's passing by monuments of paragons

[chorus]:
And so flows the workers' blood in a stream through the common[welth's ]land
And so sings a hoarse choir
About what with the saber we'll restore

At the station the train and platforms
Fermentation of social classes
By this train he gets to work
And far beyond go the others

But not for him is countries galore
The farthest he's been was to Warsaw
Where the MP-dogs are roaring
But the caravan keeps on going

[chorus]

Unpaid letters in the box
Those that still keep on coming
In jacket's pocket is a magnetic
Clock work-card to the factory

The foreman is still russhing him around
Underhis boots the gravel grinds
Sweat's gonna run down his tired temple
Before the second shift's rhythm starts

[chorus]

He remembers marches, strikes, n' rallies
And triumphs for the homeland glory
As the workers' sweat and blood
Were soaking into the white-red flag

One thing that remained through the years
As the common goal blured into obscurity
On the window in trade unions
A worn off sticker "Solidarity"

[chorus]