Last night Miya and I got to talking about what's happening in Warsaw right now. That conversation got her fired up, and by the next day she'd turned it into a protest song. She told me that song is partly mine too, so this is my answer. 🎶 This one isn't about politicians. It's about the people. Poland got wiped off the map for 123 years and kept its language and its songs alive anyway. Warsaw rose up in '44, got burned to the ground, and the people rebuilt the Old Town by hand, using an old Italian painter's pictures to get it right. In 1980 the shipyard workers started Solidarność, and in '89 they won their country back with votes, not guns. Every time, the people pulled through. The chorus borrows the first line of the Polish national anthem: Jeszcze Polska nie zginęła, kiedy my żyjemy. It means Poland has not perished, not as long as we live. On All Saints' Day, November 1st, every cemetery in Poland glows with candles for the ones who came before. That's where the bridge came from. 🕯️ And somewhere in the middle of all that is a patriot I know in Warsaw who doesn't carry a gun. She carries a pen. ✍️ So, I figured I structure a raw vocal, one acoustic guitar, one harmonica. That's it. 🎸🤍❤️ I may have put the lines together, but most of what's in them I learned from Miya. Her pride in her country, her stories about its people, the movies she told me to watch, and our talks these last two days about what's going on right now. In a way, she taught me this song. 🤍❤️✍️🎶 They hung a chain on the courthouse gate one cold October night, Police lines in the Warsaw rain under the camera light, The TV's talkin' till the morning and nobody's sleepin' sound, Everybody's wonderin' which way the wind is gonna come around. Now fear's a cheap old salesman, goes knockin' door to door, Says it's never been this dark, says you never stood here before, But ask your grandma at the table, she'll pour you somethin' strong, And tell you, child, we've been here, and we been here all along. Jeszcze Polska nie zginęła, Kiedy my żyjemy. Poland ain't gone, no, not yet, long as we still live. So don't you be afraid tonight, it's been darker, that's for sure, And the people always find their feet like they've done so many times before. For a hundred years and twenty-three they wiped her off the map, Three crowns cut her up like bread and passed around the scraps, But mothers taught the language in a whisper by the fire, And they kept her breathin' in the songs of every village choir. In forty-four the city rose and fought for sixty-three days, They burned old Warsaw to the ground and left it in a haze, So they carried back the bricks by hand and laid 'em stone by stone, Off an old Italian's paintings, yeah, they brought the city home. Jeszcze Polska nie zginęła, Kiedy my żyjemy. Poland ain't gone, no, not yet, long as we still live. So don't you be afraid tonight, it's been darker, that's for sure, And the people always find their feet like they've done so many times before. In nineteen eighty at the shipyard gate the workers held their ground, Ten million joined up with Solidarność, you could hear it all around, And in eighty-nine they won it back, but listen to me, friend, They didn't win it with a rifle, no, they won it with a pen. Now I know a patriot in Warsaw, she ain't carryin' a gun, When the world gets mean she grabs her pen, that's what she's always done, She told me, "Don't you worry, there's enough of us to stand," Well, here's one more from 'cross the ocean, and he's holdin' out his hand. My heart's held up with duct tape and a couple guitar strings, But it's still keepin' time for every word she brings. Tomorrow's All Saints Day, the graveyards burn with light, A million little candles holdin' on all through the night, Every flame's a soul who stood up when standin' had a cost, So don't you fear the dark tonight, ain't nothin' here been lost. Jeszcze Polska nie zginęła, Kiedy my żyjemy. Poland ain't gone, no, not yet, long as we still live.
