Древнерусская тоска [Drevnerusskaya toska] [English translation]

Troyka, where are you rushing? Where does your path lead to?

Coachman again is drunk deadly, or he just lain down to take a nap.

Wheels are given to the museum, the museum was stolen;

In each house it may be heard a song, or maybe the moan.

As predicted by the saints, everything's hanging in the balance,

I look at this picture in an ancient Russia's sorrow...

On the field of ancient battle there are neither lances nor bones,

They've been sold as souvenirs to the tourists and guests,

Dobrynia spat on Russia and repairs gas appliance in Milano.

Alyosha, despite being a son of priest, sold his entire icon set.

Only Ilya scares girls, jumping, dressed in one sock,

And I look at this picture in an ancient Russia's sorrow...

Yaroslavna's case is bad, she has no time to weep,

She is in office since 6:30 am, her briefing is at exactly

5 pm,

And all the nobles in Toyotas publish Playboy and Vogue,

Have sold timber and oil to the West, SS20 - to the East.

Prince Vladimir, cursing, is sailing to the open sea

on a board,

And I look at this picture in an ancient Russia's sorrow...

Under walls of the monastery a big stir has happened,

Down by a shallow river

a god with 14 hands has floated to them.

The monks with rough curses run to save him,

waving sticks.

And a god, seeing that his situation is bad, screams:

"Let me go, let me go".

Dressed as a woman, their abbot jumps on the sand,

And I look at this picture in ancient Russia's sorrow...

Over narcotized Moscow the scaffolding climbs in the sky,

The Turks build poor imitations of Holy Russia

for half an hour,

And the relics keepers have a finger dancing

on a rifle trigger,

Sign of chervonetz is appearing on the icon

instead of saint's face.

Krishnaites marches along the Arbat and Tverskaya,

I'm afraid I'm sick and tired of ancient Russia's sorrow.