He fell asleep on that ground covered in soot,
his head is lying on the wall with eyebrows,
he doesn't want revenge, he doesn't want revenge,
paralyzed right hand packed in the slate,
he dreams that he'll bring her the Ramses' crown,
if she'd like to, if she'd like to.
Let him sleep, so he doesn't know anything,
let him sleep, with a basalt on the breast,
for long time an unknown wayfarer was missing,
let him sleep, let him sleep.
In the blooming hemp he'll grasp her gently,
to honor the reunion he'll prevent grannies from
doing the fasting, doing the fasting,
to the left under the head a dirty envelope,
in the end of letter instead of signature
an imprint of lips, the imprint of lips.
Let him sleep, so he doesn't know anything,
let him sleep, with a basalt on the breast,
for long time an unknown wayfarer was missing,
let him sleep, let him sleep.
At the end of the street a burned down village,
from the bricks and from the brickwork quietly is heard
a squeaking of mice, the squeaking of mice,
he fell asleep on that ground covered in soot,
with a hole in temple the skylark calling
he won't hear, he won't hear.
Let him sleep, so he doesn't know anything,
let him sleep, with a basalt on the breast,
for long time an unknown wayfarer was missing,
let him sleep, let him sleep.