There’s a precipice beside me. On the brink of it I’m driving
In a sleigh that’s pulled by horses - I am whipping, I am lashing;
I drink mist and gulp the currents - hard against the wind I’m striving
And enjoy a nasty feeling: “There’s my end where I am dashing!”

Don’t you fly so fast, my horses, slow - to a trot not so brisk!
Don’t concede to the whip, to the thong!
But my horses are so wayward, being so hard to please,
Leaving me no time for a life, for a song...

I will let horses drink, I will die in a wink,
So before I might sink Let me sing On the brink...

I will perish: like a feather off the hand I will be blown,
In the sleigh my steeds will drag me on a bleak and cold morning...
Don’t you run so fast, my horses, slow down, make it slow!
To my last resort don’t hurry, please, prolong the final journey!

Don’t you fly so fast, my horses, slow - to a trot not so brisk!
Don’t concede to the whip, to the thong!
But my horses are so wayward, being so hard to please,
Leaving me no time for a life, for a song...

I will let horses drink, I will die in a wink,
So before I might sink Let me sing On the brink...

You are never late arriving if you visit the Almighty,
Why, then, are the angels singing with their voices, vexed and frightful?
Or, perhaps, it is the harness bells so deep in sobbing drown,
Or, perhaps, it’s me who’s begging flying horses to slow down?

Don’t you fly so fast, my horses, slow - to a trot not so brisk!
Don’t concede to the whip, to the thong!
But my horses are so wayward, being so hard to please,
Leaving me no time for a life, for a song...

I will let horses drink, I will die in a wink,
So before I might sink Let me sing On the brink...