[A brief commentary of Juraj Grezdo & Nela Horvathova: "The sloes are a symbol of bitterness. After eating them, your tongue
shrivels and becomes insensitive for a while. Such is a mood of this song. Dreamy land full of snares and the threat hanging above it.
Endless life journey".]
A narrow path full of thorns.
Carefully you lift your legs tired.
So as not to be wounded.
Green
sky above your pensive head.
It seems that perhaps it will rain.
The sun vanished long ago.
The end is not yet in sight.
And
you stray over and over again.
Diamond swords in the crowns of trees.
Glittering with their magnificent blades.
They are
falling down to your feet.
A path covered with poisoned fruit.
They are sour like all your life.
This way could be
perilous.
Where the sloes mature.
A sad bequest awaits you.
Where the sour sloes mature.
Your will is dying in
you.
Contours of hills in the distance.
You are waving to them with a scarf.
You have trod on the bad luck.
A warm fluid
will feed the ground.
It will be drinking, so dry and thirsty.
A potion that can donate a life.
Where the sloes mature.
A
sad bequest awaits you.
Where the sour sloes mature.
Your will is dying in you.
Just a red stream of your blood.
Flows
into the deepness of the chasm.
Just a red stream of your blood.
Feeds the dry and thirsty ground.
Where the sloes
mature.
A sad bequest awaits you.
Where the sour sloes mature.
Your will is dying in you.