Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Art Brut, artist - Myslovitz. Date of issue: 11.08.2011
Song language: Polish
Art Brut(original) |
| To do ludzi jest krzyk, |
| Delikatny tak. |
| To wolanie bez solw, |
| Chcesz uslyszec — patrz. |
| Radosc tworzy te mysl, |
| Rzezbi tak jak chce. |
| Zwalcza lek, |
| Granic mniej. |
| Wykluczony bez wad |
| Ktore mozna miec |
| Zachwyt dziecka to stan |
| Dla nich wiem, to sen |
| Tak bardzo inny, |
| A pewnie ten sam, |
| To moze jest tlem, |
| Jest gdzies tam. |
| Ktory z nich to jest, |
| Ten prawdziwy swiat. |
| Moj, Twoj, jej, albo wasz |
| Pewnie ich |
| Jego tez |
| Wiec chyba nasz. |
| I naiwni jak nikt |
| Zaden dZwiek czy szept |
| No i szczery ten gest, |
| Spontaniczny tez. |
| Jakby na przekor tym |
| Doskonale pieknym, znam |
| Tym, co sa, |
| Co w alejach gwiazd. |
| Ktory z nich to jest, |
| Ten prawdziwy swiat |
| Moj, Twoj, jej, wasz |
| Ich, |
| Jego tez, |
| Wiec chyba nasz. |
| Ktory z nich |
| To jest ten |
| Trafny punkt |
| Widac zal. |
| Jeszcze cos |
| Oprocz nas |
| z obu stron |
| Dzieje sie. |
| Kolorowy z drewna, ludzi tlum |
| malych kobiet, panow stu |
| muchomorow, sanek liczb |
| przytulaja sie, to nic. |
| Kalendarze, cyfry, pelno dat |
| autoportret, siedem pan, |
| w okularach siwych dam |
| dziwnych zwierzat, mnogosc klat |
| pod sukniami patrza na |
| swietosc, aniol, byki, twarz |
| oryginalna wiecznosc ma |
| przytulaja sie, przytulaja sie, przytulaja sie. |
| (translation) |
| It's to the people scream |
| Delicate yes. |
| It's a call without solvs, |
| You want to hear - watch. |
| Joy creates this thought |
| He will sculpt as he wants. |
| Combats the drug, |
| Less borders. |
| Excluded without defects |
| Which you can have |
| The delight of a child is a state |
| To them, I know it's a dream |
| So much different |
| And probably the same |
| This may be the background |
| It's somewhere there. |
| Which one is it, |
| This real world. |
| My, yours, her, or yours |
| Probably them |
| His too |
| So I guess ours. |
| And naive like no one |
| No sound or whisper |
| And this sincere gesture, |
| Spontaneous too. |
| As if in spite of this |
| Perfectly beautiful, I know |
| What they are |
| What in the avenues of stars. |
| Which one is it, |
| This real world |
| My, your, her, yours |
| Their, |
| His theses, |
| So I guess ours. |
| Which of them |
| It is this one |
| A good point |
| You can see the regret. |
| Something else |
| Except for us |
| from both sides |
| Happens. |
| Colorful of wood, people crowd |
| little women, gentlemen one hundred |
| toadstools, sleds of numbers |
| they hug, it's nothing. |
| Calendars, numbers, full dates |
| self-portrait, seven gentlemen, |
| with glasses of gray ladies |
| strange animals, a multitude of cages |
| underneath her dresses she looks at |
| holiness, angel, bulls, face |
| original eternity has |
| they hug, hug, hug each other. |