Indignation in arms raised to high heavens,
Latin rabid at mouth frothing.
Veins like ropes on the temples, blood-shot glances,
Cursing, praying or complaining.
Blatantly in faces pushed fingers and fists,
On rights rightful rhetoric battles,
Sabre-like Polish cuts, swishes and crunches
in curses, complaints, and prayers
Time to save the diseased country
My blood’s boiling, ergo sum!
With neighbours we’ll gather party
We’ll be bothersome!
One purrs to the Prussians, another’s a Vienna’s partisan,
Yet more to Russian skirt go clinging,
And everyone’s concern - a happy motherland
Hence prayers, curses and wailing.
Politics is called this quarrel of Sir Brothers
In colloquia elect-to-elect;
Laden magnates blandish the masses
among prayers, curses and complaints
Time to save the diseased country
My blood’s boiling, ergo sum!
With neighbours we’ll gather party
We’ll be bothersome!
We’ll go to the capital,
Warsaw, not Rome, is the site.
The sellouts are thieving there,
We’ll drag 'em out to light!
A tuft and wool, it’s a seer of history,
infallible he has arguments;
But Sobiecki’s Viennas and Pskov of Bathory
differ in memory of each!
The custom is basis, the custom is sacred,
For Res Publica to flourish.
Let rule whomever as long as rights are protected
to cursing, complaining, praying!
Time to save the diseased country
My blood’s boiling, ergo sum!
With neighbours we’ll gather party
We’ll be bothersome!
We’ll go to the capital,
Warsaw, not Rome, is the site.
The sellouts are thieving there,
We’ll drag 'em out to light!
Numbers' strength with us Patriots
No enemy will take hold
With Motherland close to our hearts
And merciful God.
We’ll carry them on the sabres
The traitors that try to lead us on;
Res Publica is the greatest
There’s enough for us all!
Arms raised to high heaven in terminal agony,
black blood on lips - congealed
Eyes opened astonished silently
and complaint…
We’ll carry them on the sabres
The traitors that try to lead us on;
Res Publica is the greatest
Is it enough for all?