Tribbs: Bal wszystkich świętych

This Sunday is like a movie, cheap "B" class
The guy hangs around in him with an uninteresting background,
The screenwriter took the money, then started drinking
And from the dialogues came the bottom, zero, meaning nothing.

All the saints are partying in heaven
Golden dust is falling down,
And I'm wandering around without you again
And hell is right there.

I would like to meet you once, on this only day
Or turn back time a week, but I can't
Although I know the pain of loneliness,
When there are no other Sundays, it's hard to say ...

All the saints are partying in heaven
Golden dust is falling down,
And I'm wandering without you again and it's just right to hell.
The world is just spinning with me

The stars burn like steel
You erased me from your memory
I feel sorry for myself.
Everyone in heaven today, everyone shines have a party ...