Music: Krasimir Parvanov
Lyrics: Plamen Sivov

Along the trail, an image have you gathered –
the crumbs of memory, an endless day?
The grasses, they are women, it is Friday,
your laughter, once again, is blessed away.

Each pain right here stems from the conception
that brought a day the world can laugh its load –
away from Saturdays and their vengeance
and close enough – a prayer down the road.

You’ll need a thirst to last a lifetime
to lick the point of every mountain peak.
And then to sit down by the river, silent,
down by the verdant moss that warmly speaks,

and there you can play your games of summer…
But still, your feather is in raven black.
That, which you love, is quickly weighing downward;
that, which you chased away, keeps coming back –

to seek you out, and then for you to find it,
so that the both of you can hurt and stay.
When you deceive it, you are sad for trying,
it laughs when you are quiet, just the same.

The ancient trail, the grasses, they are laughing,
the fading day that burns into the deep.
And you would laugh as well, but it is Friday –
your laughter is forgiven, if you weep.

(English translation by Diana Stefanova)