Jacek Stęszewski - Knajpa Bękartów

I:
Pub and church, bridge over the river,
Grocery store, night store, radio taxi
I dive, after opening the lid,
Into this picture of poverty and misery

They offer me red wine,
Everyday the same, day after day again;
Redhead girl, and me beside her
Bus stop, gas station

Chilled and spiked souls
Indifferent to almost everything
Waiting for some devil to
Drag them to hell by hand

And did I dream it all,
Or it was, but I forgot
When my swollen fat face
Was hanging over a sticky table

Chorus:
We run away from death,
I our un-sober reasons,
Un-curable patients
In our ugly dens;
We run away from death,
That is always near us;
Sure of ourselves, stuck up
And extremely obscene

II:
Sins, secrets, mysteries,
Bitter spells and ashes
And totally drunk witches
Feeding their demons with vodka

And in this oasis for bastards,
Where I fly on a poisoned broomstick,
For finishing myself off, not for joking,
I’m crowding with them in one pot

Bottle cap and beer, foam washes over
Falls down with a thick waterfall
Beer mug foams up, I’m not waiting anymore
And that’s how it is here every time

Half liter of rum stands beside me
It can be too little, more is needed
Before I drop out and go cold
I will wash my heart out with rum

Ref:
We dry up as leaves,
We fade in silence
Someone might squeeze us some day
Between books in an attic

We run away from death,
Reluctantly we’re waiting for a sentence,
Keeping in memory
Those behind a window-pane of the world


III:
Pub and church, bridge over the river,
Bakery instead of radio taxi;
I’m opening a window, not a lid anymore
And I can see a sober world of misery