Is it the real life, is this just fantasy, caught in the landside, no escape from reality, open your eyes, look up to the skies and see, i'm just a poor boy, i need no sympathy, because i'm easy come, easy go, little high, little low. Anyway, the wind blows, doesn't really matter to me, to me.
A tak sobie cytuje Freddiego.
Umieram, tak to czuję, to już rok.
Jestem popierdzielonym człowiekiem.
Idę umrzeć, dobranoc.