On an island, by the cathedral
I stood in silence, but could not pray
for my prayer has no meaning
now my father has gone away

Was he angry at my being
is that why his kind hand has gone ?
is he frozen in a distant seaport
with the door closed on his little son ?

Was he poisoned in his trusting
when he was a child himself ?
is his kind soul slowly rusting
like a horseshoe on a rainy shelf ?

With a hand burned by snowy railings
at the opening of harbour bars
and the frightend eyes of children
and the low boom of distant war

Now my mother sits in darkness
and she's lonely as winter earth
with a candle on the table
casting shadows on my lonely birth

I was lonely by the river
on a sunday cold afternoon
I walked thru your wounded city
and wrote this sad polish song

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