Misja [English translation]

Cannibals' drums are growling on the Happy Islands

We walk – missionaries of old truths on the shore.

Who'll be the first to assume ritual rhythm as their own?

Who will assent to the power of crazed shamans?

Vats of vodka crowd, crowd, rumble, rumble, rumble

We are, it seems, completely defenseless.

Hereby fulfilled prophecy brings no glory -

Fire, sacrificial blood of victims still unconscious.

We'll be satiated by wild women of ruthless bodies,

Laughing at our nauseous fears of conjuration.

Drunk we'll scream shoving hands under the batons of drummers;

Yet, say a golden tooth, will tarnish the memory of the greatest of sermons.

They'll force us to first drink bile of slaughtered captives;

We'll sleep with the chieftain's wife before we're castrated.

Each of our moves will be a term in our sentence.

Once the night falls, celebration of our death will commence.

Rise will clamour and gleam will holy blade of a knife

with which they'll cut our hearts out - so that for example the rain would fall...

If the rain fell the next day, that's another reason

for bitter laughter from above the rumbling skies.

Cannibals' drums are growling on the Happy Islands

We walk – missionaries of old truths on the shore.

Who'll be the first to assume ritual rhythm as their own?

Who will assent to the power of crazed shamans?