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...