Wróci wiosna, baronowo [English translation]

You say that love disgusts you- disgust me, I shout disgust me!

Look, you say, they are breasts - who will such a breast inspire?

And I claim - baroness - the cruel winter will eventually end,

With spring we will resume our sweet trulla-la

I’ll be your Don Diego once more,

Once more the moon, one more the lilacs,

Like with Paul Geraldi,

A clique of senses, me and you.

And the old baron will not tell me ‘begone!’ again.

He won’t push me out of his door with my guitar - for he is laying in his grave.

Black pajamas shroud him, the poor man chased with the last ounce of his might

And when he stood in the living room he froze, because the vent was open.

Evil baron, this is what you deserved, for you tried to erase our love,

Our sweet catty nature, you could say, our gender.

To spite you the spring love,

Which knows many secrets,

Will indulge us the same way in this sweetest trulla-la.

Currently it is still winter, oh how we can’t stand winters!

It buries our senses in ridges and does not let them bloom.

Indeed! Throughout all of Europe - ‘cold!’ shouts every grandfather and grandson.

And I suspend myself like an icicle, under the canopy of your legs ...

Don’t you worry baroness, the cruel winter is finally ending,

We will resume once again our sweet trulla-la!

Trulla, trulla, trulla, trulla, trulla, trulla, trulla-la!

We will resume, oh, once more, our sweet trulla-la!

Today I saw - this is not a lie, for we have enough of such lies -

Your dachshund freezing, calling out ‘tinkle!’ Sobbing in the frost.

So I held him in my arms and wrapped him in a warm cloth,

Oh, my dearest dachshund, you have suffered enough for two ...

come settle at my marble breast when you are in turmoil,

And you, baroness, call me your own dachshund.

Why aren’t the days joyful,

Why does a tear flow out the eye?

Patience, baroness, just one more month or maybe two.

And our holidays will return, as soon as possible I hope,

A frenzy of senses will brew!

The harp will sound - rim tsim tsim!

And the pageantry of the couches will consume our two crimson hearts,

Chin up, my love!

Trulla, trulla, trulla-la!