I have gone, I have left Mother Russia!
All the girls I knew snivel and squeal.
Now I’m sowing my seeds on some other
Unfamiliar Elysian fields.

On a tram in the Presnensky District
Someone said: "Well, he’s finally gone.
Let him carry on there with his lyrics;
He’ll be putting Versailles in his songs."

Right behind me I hear them discuss me:
"That’s not him, go on, ask him - you’ll see."
"Yes, he’s left." With their elbows they shove me
And in taxis they sit on my knees.

There’s my friend from the Magadan prison,
My old pal from the civil war years;
They make out that I write to him: "Listen,
I’m so bored, Vanya; Vanya, come here."

And I’ve already told them I’m yearning
To come back - I was humble, I begged.
That’s all rubbish! I won’t be returning
For the reason that I haven’t left.

I’ve got gifts for those quick to accept it,
So it ends as the best movies do:
There’s the Arc de Triomphe - come and get it;
There’s the Renault plant waiting for you.

How I laugh when my thoughts turn towards it -
All this nonsense they rush to believe in.
Don’t you fret, I’ve not left for abroad yet -
And don’t hope, ’cos I don’t intend leaving.