SBB - Ze słowem biegnę do Ciebie

Thousands of red planets, of blue ones.
Thousands of planets distant, silent.
And her alone, the only green one.
And her alone, the only one that speaks.

And how the word for us unravels like unto a wave,
How many tongues on this one Earth?
No longer of stone, iron or bronze
But defined of vastness an age has come.
For your every action a definition will be found,
And of particular sense are the evening frolics.
And human pain and, feeding the hunger.
The return home, and out into the garden.

Empty is your place in the wax museum,
Yet on Thy feet do the pour the paraffin.
So that You be nice and stray not from the path,
And so that the hunters of words could chase You down more easily.
And so that You smile, and so that it enter into your blood.
Just as cleaning your hands, your teeth, and the morning coffee.
Though the smoothness of the face will suffer painfully,
Always smile, for the scalpel it is much too early.

And may every word be spherical,
Sweet as a honeycomb of June honey.
Maybe they will see You, though on the seventh plane.
A flattering word like bread will they bestow upon you.
And so everywhere words, in a word a prison.
Everything named, or named shall be.
With a Word I run to You,
Into Silence.
With a Word I run to You,
Into Speech.
With a Word I run to You.

Thousands of red planets, of blue ones.
Thousands of planets distant, silent.
And her alone, the only green one.
And her alone, the only one that speaks.