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Już nie ma dzikich plaż [English translation]
Już nie ma dzikich plaż [English translation]
turnover time:2024-11-05 11:39:42
Już nie ma dzikich plaż [English translation]

The beaches of Jurata are empty, the covered beach sits have fallen asleep already

There’s only a drunken man who’s propping a pole with his nose

The wind lifts up a grey sheet of a newspaper

No one’s going to read what news the world was bringing us

Nostalgia bites [my] heart and ice freezes [my] soul

In the radio, Mahalia sings her black, melancholic blues

The hotel is [full] of empty rooms, a spider sleeps at the reception hall

I put into [my] bags the crumbs of those days

There are no more of wild beaches

Where I used to collect amber

When I used to go to you with [my] dog

And the seagulls were [circling] drawing eights, drawing eights

There are no more of wild beaches

Nor [that] buzzy cafe by the pier

More than one face disappeared

And many lost their youth [in a game]

I enter the return train and wipe away a single tear

People are lonely, whether they want i tor not

I look into the eyes of autumn, there are herds of clouds over the sea

The landscape of my hope escapes from under the wheels

Nostalgia bites [my] heart and ice freezes [my] soul

In the radio, Mahalia sings her black, melancholic blues

The hotel is [full] of empty rooms, a spider sleeps at the reception hall

I put into [my] bags the crumbs of those days

There are no more of wild beaches

Where I used to collect amber

When I used to go to you with [my] dog

And the seagulls were [circling] drawing eights, drawing eights

There are no more of wild beaches

Nor [that] buzzy cafe by the pier

More than one face disappeared

And many lost their youth [in a game]

The wild beaches are no more

And there’s no more of the old souvenirs’ seler

And I [can] only find that quiet corner, corner

In the rustle of the grass

There are no more of wild beaches

Where I used to collect amber

When I used to go to you with [my] dog

And the seagulls were [circling] drawing eights, drawing eights

There are no more of wild beaches

Nor [that] buzzy cafe by the pier

More than one face disappeared

And many lost their youth [in a game]

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