Przemysław Gintrowski - Prolog

Who am I playing for? Closed windows
Handles shining arrogantly
Bassoons of rain, sad gutters
Rats dancing among the trash

The bombs beat the last drum
There was a simple funeral in the courtyard
Two boards in a cross and a torn helmet
In the sky of fires a great rose

On the grill turns a calf
In the oven matures brown bread
Fires go out
Only the pardoned fire lasts forever

And the simple inscription on those boards
Names short like a salvo
Gryf, Wilk, and Pocisk - who remembers?
The red color faded in the rain

Gryf, Wilk, and Pocisk - who remembers?
The red color faded in the rain

We took bandages for years after
Now no one cries
Buttons from a soldier's coat rattle
In a matchbox

Buttons from a soldier's coat rattle
In a matchbox

Throw away the mementos, burn the memories
And step into a new life's stream
There is only the earth
One earth and the seasons above it

Wars of insects, wars of men
A brief death over the flower of honey
The grain ripens
Oaks blossom, rivers descend to the ocean from mountains

I swim against the current, and they with me
Inexorably looking into my eyes
Stubbornly whispering the old words
We eat our bitter bread of despair

I must take them to a dry place
And make a large mound of sand
Before spring sprinkles them with flowers
And a strong, herbal sleep intoxicates

This city...
There is no city, it went underground
It still shines
Like rot in a forest
An empty place, but the air above still trembles
From those voices

The ditch with a muddy river
I call the Vistula
Hard to confess...
They condemned us to such love
Pierced us with such a homeland