Krokhmalne Gas

Krokhmalne Street, I know it well,
I was born there myself.
Without that street, I would surely be
Long ago lost and gone.
The damp old pavement all covered with dirt,
The house that is falling apart,
The man who rubs his hands with cold and thinks:
Where to get some coal?
The woman who stands there selling bagels
And looks for an eager buyer,
The youth who is dying from hunger,
Who braces himself so he won’t fall.
Even the young girl there
Who wants to sell her body,
And also the guy who takes a chance
And afterwards runs away.

Refrain:
Krokhmalne Street, you’re dear to me,
Embedded in my heart.
I’d stretch out my neck for you
And let them chop off my head.
The town square, that’s my home,
The street, that is my mother.
My brother is the dust from the street,
My sister, the very stones.

I never had a home,
The street gave birth to me.
I am the street.
I was a child and the street brought me up.
I had no mother, no father either,
Like one not born of woman.
I was hungry and frozen,
I roamed the streets alone;
And if sometimes my heart begins
To tremble and complain,
I would have wanted a mother’s mouth
To tell me a comforting word;
So I run out to the old square
And meet all the guys there.
The square is my sister,
My mother and father.

When I go out in the street sometimes
And want to walk around,
I’m sure, quite sure,
That my old feet will take me to Krokhmalne Street.
From childhood on, I’ve been like this
Nothing will ever change me.
I’m only drawn to poverty,
To people who are suffering,
To people who work hard and struggle terribly with need,
Whose only fantasy is a dry piece of bread.
Such people know not of luxury and splendor.
Fathers, mothers, young children
Work hard day and night.