Боже, храни полярников [Bozhe, hrani polyarnikov] [English translation]

God, show love to explorers, where endless day is the norm,

With political posters, keeping their houses warm;

With their favorite oranges and a plan for a year in advance.

With their tickets to heaven on a boat without a chance.

God, show love to explorers, the ones who escaped with their lives

When coast guard, out of boredom, has taken them in its sites.

Nobody knows their purpose in here, no one can tell them apart,

But women are melting steel in their honor, as children begin to depart.

Are they content in the slumber, awarded by you before?

With premonition of hunger and perpetual fear of war,

With their technical spirit and skyward directed requests,

Which you are promptly fulfilling, oblivious to the rest.

So forgive them, for moaning and starving, when their fridges are full,

For being akin to a lover, afraid of the light of the moon;

And once you’ve absolved their weakness and repaid their loyal regard,

Increase their daily allowance of booze and leave them to be as they are.