Gang Marcela - Ojciec żył tak jak chciał

My father lived his own life, every day was different,
His armchair by the door was mostly empty
Sometimes someone dropped by to read a short letter for my mother,
Then at night, even in my sleep, I could hear her crying.

My father lived his own life, almost never sleeping at home,
But playing with each of us for a long time when he returned.
Sometimes on a whim he would take my mother dancing,
Then at night, even in my sleep, I could hear them laughing.

Every morning at breakfast, while my sister cut the bread,
I am thinking about him, wondering where he is and what he’s doing.
At night, after dinner, when I am tired and go to bed, his photograph under my pillow sleeps with me …

My father lived his own life, every day was different,
His armchair by the door is still empty.

Every morning at breakfast, while my sister cut the bread,
I am thinking about him, wondering where he is and what he’s doing.
At night, after dinner, when I am tired and go to bed, his photograph under my pillow sleeps with me …

My father lived his own life, never taking it too seriously,
But some day he will return to see us again …
I know that some day he will return to see us …