Kult - Knajpa morderców

Don’t search for the way; you’ll find it in your heart
The tavern of former murderers is a sad sight
Don’t let them scare you when you enter
With eyes that blaze in the dark

Don’t mind the dangerous grimace on their faces
Murderers have the hearts of doves
Bands, armies, gangs, and black troops
Yesterday – knights, today – unemployed

Emptiness and chill sweep through the corners
An old murderer clears glasses from the bar
The jukebox plays sentimental tunes
Murderers sit, breaking matches

Sometimes a strange face flashes and disappears
Someone rises from the table
Returns the next day with an indifferent expression
Cursing life, placing a flask

Everyone crowds around him at once
Eyes flash around the glasses
And suddenly, everyone feels better
Someone still needs these murderers

Maybe at last, some morning
The grand skirmish will start again
And days worthy of envy will return
When they’ll be paid for pleasures

Once more, instead of a flat bottle
They’ll feel the familiar grip of a gun barrel
And a tremor will secretly run through their fingers
Like a tickle: here’s death, here’s life

Return, sweet hours of glory
Famous chases and shootouts
It’s the only way to be young again
To kill and proudly await the reward

In the murderers’ tavern, we bite our fingers
Desires haunt us, dreams of fighting
But who trusts murderers today
So silver bullets sleep in dark barrels

Smearing colors over forests and fields
The balloon of night races with the tavern as its gondola
Once so bright, and now so dark
I don’t see the enemy, yet he’s in front of me

My head splits from alcoholic torture
Yet among porcelain and nickel pipes
One feels like a demigod again
For here he stands, face to face with the enemy

A bullet leaps like a silver snake
Eyes dim in the mirror above the tap
The murderers’ brows moisten with sparks of sweat
And silently, they carry the body out the door

As midnight strikes!