I consider very often
What is worth my life
Hundreds of hackneyed tracks
The mirage of being at the top.
At times like this
I go somewhere in Połoniny.
If you’re tired with climbing
There you feel a different man

Chorus:
You left downhill everything
What was for you a torment
When you look around at the top
The world seems to be better

Naked hills of Połoniny
Are combed by the winds.
They invite you to travel on them
And pay respect to biesy and czady.
Your face is wet in the rain
You’re freezing cold and tired.
The fog separates you
From bad things in the downhill.

Chorus:
You left downhill everything …