Open doors
Of hospitals, police stations.
The string is stretched out to the limit.
French demons
Are such morons
But they still can carouse...

I had surely left my mark somewhere
The outcomes are predictable.
Today a demon walked me
Through the city of Paris.

"Do drink a glass", - he whined
"Come on, listen to the guitar!"
He dragged us to the Russian bars
With Hungarians and Bulgarians.

I longed for nature, escaping to the forest
Plunging into grass and water
But this was a French demon
He didn’t like landscapes.

We behaved as if we fled from prison, -
Take us anywhere -
We fell drunk and grew sober
Always by turns.

My friend-genius of all times,
A folly and a rogue,
Saddled the lame demon.
When he regained his senses.

Growing sober, he stood in a shower,
Doing away with the fatigue, -
And the demon didn’t succeed -
He couldn’t break our Russian souls.

But what my friend had managed to do -
Came from God, not from the demon -
He was of coarse grinding
And rough mold.

You couldn’t pierce him through
With nothing sharp or heavy
And that’s when he is fenced in completely
With hostile paling.

Our drunk minds considered drinking
Our true calling.
Oh, the things we said
To the guilty and the innocent!

The string tore and dashed for it -
Save our backs!
The hospitals shed tears for us,
And so did the prefectures...

We hurled ourselves into demon’s bondage,
With grenades - under tanks -
The tears glistened on the floor
And franks grew dim in them.

The Gypsies sung about a shawl
And rocked the fiddles -
Poured melancholy and sorrow into us -
We are up to our necks in sadness.

The moisture streamed down our ears -
All rubbish, feebler than rubbish, -
But again and again the fiddles
Shoved the sleaze back into our souls.

Somewhere we fed caviar
To Armenians in bracelets and earrings,
And that friend of mine in black boots -
Fired a pistol.

The veins hung down and clots
Unfolded in blood, -
And the demon, sitting vis-a-vis
Giggled in French.

Vanity - that’s what all in this life is
Damn the prefectures!
My friend signed checks
And gave away banknotes.

Wide open doors
Of hospitals, police stations.
The string is stretched out to the limit.
French demons
Are such morons.
But they still can carouse...