I guess thats it for me - I blush and feel embarrassed; I guess thats it for me - I close my eyes, I see. Ill never match her now! Shes even been to Paris And yesterday I learnt its not just there shes been. I sang a lot of songs about the far north for her; I thought: "Were getting close, Im very nearly there." I sang of no-mans-land, but all I did was bore her; About those lovely flowers she really doesnt care. I sang again and thought shed surely understand this; I sang about the south and him who she once knew. But what am I to her? Shes even been to Paris; Marcel Marceau himself said something to her too. I left my factory, though grief ahead I foresaw, And into dictionaries my heart and soul I flung; But whats all that to her? Shes upped and gone to Warsaw, And she and I once more are speaking different tongues. When she comes back Ill say in Polish: "Prosze pani, Just take me as I am - no singing, lets agree!" But what am I to her? Shes visiting Iran, she Will always be, I know, one step ahead of me. For if shes here today, tomorrow shes in Oslo; I made a big mistake, how could I be so dumb? Id better let it rest and let them have their own go - The one she once was with and he whos yet to come.
Margaret & Stas Porokhnya. Translation, 2007