Песня о свободе [Pesnya o svobode] [English translation]

My soul felt sick, circled by indifferent walls;

Clichés are slick, [the] twilight of changes falls;

Sitting at home, they croon something ‘bout cosy rooms

This rich night bodes a rainy noon…

Grey is the night, out there dawn’s fuming hot;

May the sun rise, or maybe it will not;

This night lacks love; so thin are bridges thrown between

People; nothing’s there – but you’re a thing…

Oh, freedom! Oh, freedom! Abundance and littleness;

You have made us witness the soul type, which we’d own;

‘Tis not death, nor living, nor lies that could guide you

So sky-like, you’re beating in anguish inside me…

Dark is the porch, another one’s sinking down;

Pain’s on the dash, dripping inside of us;

In this night, almost torn, it’s, like our state—forsworn—

Sweeping the ash of the smouldering eyes…

Grey is the speech in a dark windowpane;

Lie down and leach into my night of grey,

No, I can not—enough!—root in this deadly life,

No, not with this my soul is rife…

Oh, freedom! Oh, freedom! Abundance and littleness;

You have made us witness the soul type, which we’d own;

‘Tis not death, nor living, nor lies that could guide you

So sky-like, you’re beating in anguish inside me…