Kult - Dziewczyna się bała pogrzebów

It is so strange to find when looking for something many years
It happens every spring, but it's still a surprise.
For all of the night, the devil dances on the bottom of the glass,
through days you wait by the old park's gate.
The shore of wonders' ocean is marked by broken fence
Like a whirlwind of sea foam stands lilac's smell,
but suddenly the silence breaks, and all know in a flash
The sound of funeral bell won't sound again....

'Cause funerals were always her terror
By night crawling through her silent dreams
Car in black and in silver
And tears that are spare
Chrysanthemums and heads in tremble
'Cause funerals were always her terror
Like spider the fear crawled down her face
When thin as dry branches
The grim, black mares pranced,
With dark tufts swaying on their heads.

When she was leaving they were taking an old, but faithful car
That still could go a hundred maybe more.
The paint has cracked, the doors all creak, the clutch is torn— so what?
Beneath the crooked roof, the world’s more straight.
They’ve worn the map right through—from west to east, from bottom to the up,
And every road ahead seemed one they knew.
But when the black of flags preceded crosses in their view—
They’d rush the nearest side street, fast as wind.

'Cause funerals were always her terror
By night crawling through her silent dreams
Car in black and in silver
And tears that are spare
Chrysanthemums and heads in tremble
'Cause funerals were always her terror
Like spider the fear crawled down her face
When thin as dry branches
The grim, black mares pranced,
With dark tufts swaying on their heads.

Look here, come closer, see the bark still bears a jagged scar,
And bitter tears of resin weep below.
The tires once sang, the engine hummed, the wind laughed in the car,
As in the heart of night, he kissed her slow.
Here marks the journey's end in ruby blood and a dirty sheet,
I won’t deny—before, he drank a bit.
For just a while, he saw his joy, in headlights fleeing free,
Now tell me, could you dream a finer death?

Those funerals used to be her terror,
Her heart would shudder at the sight.
But now it's the funeral,
For two— oh how grand,
In silver and black, it sparkles bright.

'Cause funerals were always her terror
Like spider the fear crawled down her face
When thin as dry branches
The grim, black mares pranced,
With dark tufts swaying on their heads.