Before the dawn, nothing can be heard on the other side
Under the veil of the fog I hear the ratlling of the Eight Cossack regiment
And the frosting is camouflaging my coat through the night
Under the fallen elm.
I will send this letter from the spite
I know, name and the address are unknown
Until the stupid postman doesn't figure out
Who is the one waiting for the news from the battlefield
Just so you know, this photo shows
seemingly tame landscape of the Galicia
but there is no moment of peace, cause we're under the fire
Photographer is the only one who spares the bullets
Oberst wastes the lead like craizy
Photographer on the embarkment very rarely shoots
Along the flooding Vistula soldiers squeeze
Thinking about lands far away
At the dusk, mourning can usually be heard on the other side
A lament of the adjinokaja* like a wounded crane
But it becomes meek when drunk by vodka
Just clear
Under my cap many lions lie
In my dream you make me a white Carnival scarf
And when I hug you from behind all the yarn gets confused
Like a cello
Just so you know, the Moon got caught in the net
The bells of Galicia call for the evening preyer
Please, Heaven, don't take me this for wrong
But you are the only thing I pray to
I will worry, you don't have to worry
For if I wanted, I could have died a hundred times
While Vistula flows, backwards, out of the meaning
and wet flocks depart into distance