the music stopped to fill the night
   we can't move in this silent room
   the only sound to poison the air
   comes from that man upstairs
  
   his roaring voice screams full of hate
   he can't forget his glory past
   but now his only joy in life
   is liquids, piss and beer
  
   but we won't tell him, we want to forget these
   we go on running up that hill
   we won't tell him, we want to forget these
   we go on running up that hill
   our kind can fly away to
   manastir baroue
  
   sometimes you cannot stand their eyes
   fixed on your face, grabbing at your soul
   you shy away, think of our nights
   and wish i would be around
  
   but when we meet there in our room
   illusions make us raise our fists
   the sense of secrets everywhere
   the loathsome one may smear again
   but we won't tell him, we want to forget these
  
   we go on running up that hill
   we won't tell him, we want to forget these
   we go on running up that hill
   our kind can fly away to
   manastir baroue
   we won't tell him, we want to forget these...