Don't mow me down with the scythe,
Don't stick the nail in my palm:
Don't poison me with an infusion of water hemlock,
you are my clear mind,
I am your black bone,
so leave in honor of drinking away our pure soul.
How many I have stolen - but my hands are empty,
how many I have drunk - but all the wines do nothing with me,
You can vote, or you can become a buddhist,
but when you wake up in the morning - only emptiness around.
Don't saw me, don't poke a log in my eye:
There are enough logs for a big house to build;
Soul is saint, it doesn't care for us,
So drink - do not fidget, we are in two.
I would like to do, but everything disappears like a footstep on the sand;
You can sing in opera, or shave with an axe,
But anyway Vladimir is moving his herd to the river,
But the herd doesn't care, they ate it to the bone.