Storks have made nests long ago
And my relatives become irrelative
Photos are glued for memories, next album.
We're fed and have our quench sated by bread alone...
Our healed wounds hurt sometimes...
But ones who don't have enough are sitting at table, as always.
Chorus:
Let us be what we are!
Let us rest from your daily attacks.
Let us be what we are!
One who hears, naturally has it all clear...
There's always somebody who says surplus words...
Free thoughts are badly explained.
Fingers squeeze the metall, but microphone is silent.
Secrets have become known long ago.
Friends have somewhy become only passing acquaintances.
Everybody want to get in time in the last wagon.
Chorus x2.