Tekuté písky [English translation]

How nice, when husband takes a wife,

how sad, when wife takes a husband,

a rubber puck hits into the boards,

goals are lacking, no-one passes.

In the ruin of facades, hidden behind a scaffold,

former young for quarter and food,

we drag through time, half suffocated

in the quicksands of provincial manners.

They slammed the door? We sneak through the back,

cursed into the Book of forests, waters and slopes,

a packed mouth announces, behind the shop-window,

that the end of dreams is the end of love-making.

A rubber puck hits into the boards,

if the pocket is empty, no-one gives away,

no, it is not pretty, when a husband takes a wife,

no, it is not sad, when a wife takes a husband.

To be a lousy actor - what's more in this world:

if lacking drama, a small operetta will do,

a rubber puck hits into the boards,

if can't be done from the side - then from the middle.

A Hussite berates armoured vehicles

and time asks for many a head,

if you're left without it - what's the brains for

in the quicksands of provincial manners?

The scaffold hides paranoia of the facades,

babbling of fools instead of a dialogue,

until you give out in peace, nothing's left but to drink

to drown the rest of courage and defiance.

You fill in your name, place of birth

and a number of figures, the kind one does not admit to

so it goes, when husband takes a wife,

so it goes, when wife takes a husband.

From school, children bring report cards,

whether they suspect, what is it you dream about,

when at night you do the ironing, growing old over a baking tray?

About a bit of love, the kind one does not get.

You buy bread, an after-shave

and denounce faith, the kind one does not hold

so it goes, when husband takes a wife,

so it goes, when wife takes a husband

Silence hides the paranoia of living,

you keep quiet and decorate windows for the celebration,

more than soul, a living is worth

in the quicksands of provincial manners.

From wild passion, a lukewarm caress

muteness falls on the frozen water,

a rubber puck hits into the boards

and just a few weeks left until divorce.

• Artist:Karel Kryl
• Album:Tekuté písky