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Hey, you over there

who are sitting on the shore, happy and laughing,

someone is dying in the water,

someone is constantly struggling

on this angry, heavy, dark, familiar sea.

When you are drunk

with the thought of getting your hands on your enemy,

when you think in vain

that you've given a hand to a weak person

to produce a better weak person,

when you tighten your belts, when,

when shall I tell you

that someone in the water

is sacrificing in vain?



Hey, you over there

who are sitting pleasantly on the shore,

bread on your tablecloths, clothes on your bodies,

someone is calling you from the water.

He beats the heavy wave with his tired hand,

his mouth agape, eyes torn wide with terror,

he has seen your shadows from afar,

has swallowed water in the dark blue deep,

each moment his impatience grows.

He raises from these waters

a foot, at times,

at times, his head...

Hey you there,

he still has his eyes on this old world from afar,

he's shouting and hopes for help.

Hey you there

who are calmly watching from the shore,

the wave beats on the silent shore, spreads

like a drunk fallen on his bed unconscious,

recedes with a roar, and this call comes from afar again:

Hey, you over there...



And the sound of the wind

more heart-rending by the moment,

and his voice weaker in the sound of the wind;

from waters near and far

again this call is heard:

Hey, you over there...

