Последний поворот [Poslednij povorot] [English translation]

They call me, oh, the final turning point,

You surely know all about me

From taste of vodka and the shoveled sod

From taste of bread with tears.

All I have got at home is wormwood.

The ruptured skull is novelty:

It's knife to my heart where all is good,

I'm home where it is crappy.

Why do I need your golden city mire,

What is the point to sing in rhyme -

For seven hundred years my soul's on fire,

Forgetting all will suit me fine.

And if tomorrow by the hand

To Eden's Garden He will steer -

Apostle Peter, oh, father Nikolai,

Oh, take me out of here.

Two wings of angel in the sky

Draw rainbow's arc precisely,

I am myself and all my things are lame,

Pour one more glass - and nicely.

I am myself and all my things are lame,

Pour one more glass - and nicely.