Můj rodný dům [English translation]

I was sixteen,

wanted to explore the world,

our house was like a cage.

My father just nodded and said:

You're of age,

so come to me, boy.

He fished in his pocket

and handed me a key.

He said: You know your path

and when you will have known the world and you wish,

you have a place to return.

This is your parental house.

Your parental house.

Your parental house.

Your parental house.

Some time had passed

and I received a letter,

my uncle wrote to me.

And I knew

before I started to read,

that my dad had passed away.

I boarded a train at once,

then I walked through the town

and wandered through the dark for a long time.

But when I looked up,

then all of a sudden as a shadow

it loomed over me,

my parental house,

my parental house,

my parental house,

my parental house.

Our fence,

broken windows and a few bare walls.

An old rocking chair,

but nobody sat in it.

There was a stranger inside,

dust on his clothes and a white crash helmet on his head.

The key fell from my hand

and my voice wobbled all of a sudden:

This is my parental house,

my parental house,

my parental house,

my parental house.

He said: You should have come earlier,

there's no time,

you'd better step back a bit.

In a few days

there'll be a new railway here

and the house was in our way.

Then a lightning flashed

and a terrible rumble

took the words off his mouth.

I stood there still

the black dust brought tears into my eyes.

My parental house,

my parental house,

my parental house,

my parental.