I grew up tall and handsome lad Thanks to my Mother and my Dad, A peopleís person, never had a lack of friends. I didnít bend and I stood tall And didnít mind life at all And rolled along, and helped my head with both my hands. But I was young was and I got framed I had no credit to my name There was this room that had a sign: "Respect the Time" Itís where they eat you without salt, They seal you in an envelope Address at random, send you where the sun donít shine. I was a drifter but came back With prison time behind my back I wished that someone bought those years or took them free I thought Iíll never get a job But there was this recruiter snob Who made a good long distance trucker out of me. The road... On the side - the truck We ran off road and got stuck The cabinís dark, my partner hasnít said two words. I wish heíd yell than sit like that 500 miles right or left And all I hear is his teeth banging "Dance with Swords" We both knew all about the road And how they needed our load And that our job was sit and drive through day and night Who could have said - New Yearís day, 500 miles either way The blizzardís strong, and we can honk with all our might. "Shut down the truck", he says at last, "You see yourself that we wonít last, You see yourself that thereís no use to even pray 500 miles on either end By dawn for sure weíll be dead And snowed in so well we will not need a grave." I go: "Shut up, you make me retch" And then he jumps and grabs a wrench And stares at me, his face no more than deadly mask What does he care? - 500 miles, And only that one who survives Will tell the story to the cops in case they ask. He was my brother, only more I used to hand-feed him before And there he is, his look is giving me the chills What does he care - 500 miles, And who will later write in files That he forgot who Iím to him and he - to me. And then he left and went away I let him go and hit he hay I dreamed about our funny little scene 500 miles right to left Iím looking for the "out" gate But all Iím finding is an "in", and Iím locked in. The end was simple - tractors came There was a doctor and a chain And they made sure that the truck got to its goal. And he came back, and he looked whipped But there will be another trip I donít hold grudges, heís my partner after all.
© Alex Tolkachev. Translation, 1999