Stars know
that you are beautiful.
And they know
that my heart is in bloom.

Stars are happy to die
for our wish come true.

They know they won't die,
they will always live
in me and you.

There's a country where live
people who don't have their own place.
They travelled the world and never reached
their destination.

They were exiled, misplaced, not admitted
anywhere, drowned in their tiny boats,
shot by steel hearted guards.

There's a country, no one knows about,
like an island somewhere
in the middle of ocean,
yet never found.

Nothing is strange about this country,
except that it exists.

We all one day will arrive there,
it's the matter of time.

Three middle-aged men
had told a ******* the train to shut up.

She wasn't even loud,
they were much louder than her.

When she got off at the next stop,
she friendly waved at them.

She won,
she beautifully won
that old, ***** game,
played on the train
by the three middle-aged men.

No one cared
that there was an unattended bag on the train.
Staring at their phones, not looking around
what's going on,
raising heads only to see if it's their stop,
busy with Facebook notifications,
Instagram posts and youtube sensations,
commuting to work
from A to B,
half-******, half-asleep.
At 7am it's hard to be happy,
when you are going to work,
it's hard
to be something more
than a dumb, silent slave of the modern times.

No one cares about the unattended bag.
It's hard to give a ****,
when no one gives a ****.
You wanna talk to the driver? Good luck.

Someone noticed the bag, got a bit suspicious,
he looked around, and it was hard
to produce a word, to open his mouth,
to make all heads turn to him, all their eyes
have them fixed on you, when you are trying to explain
what's your concern.

There's no members of staff on the train anyway,
you don't wanna be late for work,
because of the stupid bag.

It's much easier to carry on
with staring at your phone,
not thinking of anything,
not getting paranoid about stuff.
It will spare you troubles in life.

Spotkania o pracę,
na które nie przyszedłem,
było ich trochę.

Mówiłem: Tak, tak,
przyjdę, jutro o dziewiątej,
sto procent.
I nie poszedłem. Jaka szkoda!

Byłem gotowy wieczorem,
wcześnie poszedłem spać,
by wstać świeży.
Ale nie wstałem na czas.
I nawet teraz, gdy o tym mówię,
wciąż trudno mi w to uwierzyć.

Puste było krzesło
w biurze, gdzie już na mnie czekał
manager,
ubrany w garnitur,
z papierami do wypełnienia.
Wciąż tam czekają
na podpisanie,
nie wiedząc, że nigdy nie będą przeze mnie
podpisane.

Wciąż tam siedzi,
manager, którego nigdy nie miałem przyjemności spotkać
i uścisnąć jego dłoni,
wymienić uśmiechów.

Spotkania o pracę, na które nie poszedłem,
bo były albo za wcześnie,
albo za późno.
Ominąłem mój los.
Taki widać los.

One day it will erupt
and turn this city into grave - I say.

No one believes a fortune-teller,
no one wants to face the fate.
They won’t leave Pompeii,
nothing can make them go,
there's no place like this
in the whole Rome.

Nothing will make them leave,
only fools run away from paradise.
They are singing and drinking wine,
girls are dancing and music's playing.

I wish I didn't know how it will end,
I wish I was one of them.

I'll pour some wine into the glass
and down it as fast as I can,
and then I'll have another one,
and another one.
I'll be singing with them, dancing.
I'll kiss a girl and then I'll sleep with her,

I will be trying to forget it.

Life is fair,
when the day is dying,
and I can see pigs flying
over Trafalgar Square.

The fountain is singing,
the drunkard is drinking,
the homeless sparechanging
the night.

Sir Nelson is chilling.
The busker is screaming
and blind men are dreaming
about light.

The moon is starwatching.
The buskers Beatlesing.

Im trafalgarsquare'ing
my rounded dreams
Nothing is as real as it seems.