Warchoł [English translation]

“Brawler” call me, I won’t deny,

Only my own rules I live by:

Free is a man's agency,

Won’t be a parchment's signatory.

God's hand in this or the devil's

Just beautiful or vile perhaps

Will of mine, like all other sabres

Bent too far surely snaps.

Unleash it with an unskilled paw

Back will strike might of steel

Learn well your own weapon

So its nature serves your will

(Chorus)

My case as old as the country

-Usual mediocrity:

They didn't make me a janissary

-Try a courtier in futility

They commended my virtues and deeds,

Fuelled vices with compliments,

I don't feel like being a servant,

Nobody can touch Firebrands!

I like dances, meadful feasts,

Full tables, busy sheets,

Not the strong sex but the fairer

Verbum Dei on a holy day.

Yet neither priest, nor booze-dom

Scared me of hell, to heaven lured,

And not a single broad’s own

Little finger gets me spooled.

My own headache, my own regret,

My own guts, my own claps

My own finally the soul's dread,

When the reaper comes to dance

(Chorus)

My case as old as the country

-Usual mediocrity:

They didn't make me a janissary

-Try a courtier in futility

They commended my virtues and deeds,

Fuelled vices with compliments,

I don't feel like being a servant,

Nobody can touch Firebrands!

If I was a man made of wax,

In hands of leaders, women, priests –

I could leave to their concerns

The total weight of my sins.

But I know all those guardians,

Court of conscience, truth’s orders,

Speculators of redemptions –

For I know myself – more or less.

Once they smear me and they stab me

I’ll be useless to their ends;

For atonement thrown on the stake

And wash of me their hands.

(Chorus)

My case as old as the country

-Usual mediocrity:

They didn't make me a janissary

-Try a courtier in futility.

Bad? Perhaps. Good? But then why?!

Not that much conceit within me.

Let the sinner go his own way,

And the saint shall live leisurely!