| Saturday night, at home, waiting for the woman of her dreams
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| Fifty to relax before the meeting
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| His name is Sławek, but I don't know his age
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| He did not stand out from the crowd, I see such faces every day
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| Today different, dressed elegantly
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| He visited the barber's cage next door early in the morning
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| And so he waits from noon for his honorable guest
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| It's almost seven o'clock and he hears footsteps on the stairs
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| Before he opened the door, he knew it was her
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| He smelled heavy perfume from Christian Dior
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| Ready for anything, candles, wine and dinner
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| From thought to action, the action slowly takes off
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| You know what's going on, the young people got down to work
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| Her heavy Dior with his sweat got mixed up
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| Now the beautiful fragrance stays with the steam on the windows
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| He would like to stop time, live it all his life
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| It's almost twelve, time for a fond farewell
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| Her overnight bus is about to come to a stop
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| After she leaves, he writes a letter of thanks
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| Suddenly, a knock on the door interrupts the writing
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| Sure she came back for something, she opens without thinking
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| He slipped on the rug by pressing on the door handle
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| It hits the ground with its head and the cell falls out of the hand
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| He didn't have time to see who knocked on his door, this one |