[Verse 1: O.S.T.R.]
What a fucking luck, I swear to myself
This is the last time danger man
Time to get lost, it's a matter of the patient
For the daytime darkness flows like steam on the windows
I have to get rid of the CD, these papers, because of them
I don't want to meet anyone, you better not say where I am
Cross the road quickly to disappear around the bend
Control my pain, nothing scares me
Which could send my plans back to hell again
Don't be afraid, I know where I'm running, I've known these walls since I was a child
From the arcade to the centers, Sienkiewicza against the tide
By connecting courtyards, Łódź brings me freedom
This is how I hide non-stop, walking in the shadow of these walls
Desire for a tariff, cancel thinking style
A matter of reason, every move every step
God give me strength, because it is a nightmare for my legs
A dark figure between the buildings
Where love and hate are broken for the heart
I keep in touch what's behind me
If we make a mistake, one day they will win it
Evidence of the crime must be disposed of
So a record, papers, so that no one can prove it
The evil agony of this world and evil
As if saying nothing and so Satan knows us
[Break x2: O.S.T.R.]
This cannot be called
Nobody can (we'll fuck)
The boy knows it (doesn't use words)

[Verse 2: O.S.T.R.]
Why did I need this swamp like now
I'm going to fucking die for free here
You have a poem of life about a journey to paradise
Instead of listening, I will only have a hump
This is a thought, I will drop a CD in the store
Among the million CDs, it will disappear quickly, because after all
It will come out with it in the supermarket, it is a movable product
Parking in advance for a while on steep stairs
To keep the secret and get rid of the carcass
I'll change my clothes, I'm sick of hell in here
Quiet steps to where the directories heap
Put the disc between the inserts of the envelope, God help me
What is the album, O.S.T.R., I don't know
But the size of the box will be quite a maneuver
Insert simple details into the cover of the tiles
Someone's going to have a flu-dating feel
January, too cold for delay or objection
A packed family is waiting in Lot to meet you
He's about to fly away, the last straight wings
Goodbye burns sweet Brazil