The empty beaches of Jurata*, the bins have fallen asleep already
Only a drunken man remains propping up a pole with his nose
The wind is blowing an old newspaper's page around
No one will read today what the world informed us about
Nostalgia bothers the heart and ice cuts at the soul
Mahalia sings on the radio her black and dolorous blues
A hotel with empty rooms, a spider sleeps in the reception area
I slowly put the crumbs of those days into bags
There are no more wild beaches
On which I used to collect amber
When I used to walk my dog to you
And the seagulls would draw eights, draw eights
There are no more wild beaches
And a noisy cafe near the pier
More than one face has disappeared
And many lost their youthfulness, their youthfulness
I get on a return train, I dry one tear
People are lonely, whether they want this or not
I look into autumn's eyes, there are herds of clouds at the beach
A landscape of my hopes escapes my from underneath me
Nostalgia bothers the heart and ice cuts at the soul
Mahalia sings on the radio her black and dolorous blues
A hotel with empty room, a spider sleeps in the reception area
I slowly put the crumbs of those days into bags
There are no more wild beaches
On which I used to collect amber
When I used to walk my dog to you
And the seagulls would draw eights, draw eights
There are no more wild beaches
And a noisy cafe near the pier
More than one face has disappeared
And many lost their youthfulness, their youthfulness
There are no more wild beaches
The old man selling souvenirs
And only in the rustle of the grass
I find this quiet corner, corner
There are no more wild beaches
On which I used to collect amber
When I used to walk my dog to you
And the seagulls would draw eights, draw eights
There are no more wild beaches
And a noisy cafe near the pier
More than one face has disappeared
And many lost their youthfulness, their youthfulness