I hate when of fatal outcomes I hear,
I never tire of life, despite its wrongs.
I hate any season of the year
Whenever I cannot sing cheerful songs.

Hype excitement I distrust without heeding
But open cynicism I hate as well,
I hate a stranger over my shoulder reading
To find out what my private letters tell.

I hate stopping a conversation’s track
Or anything done only halfway through.
I hate when people are shot in the back
And shots point-blank, I despise them too.

I hate gossip as viewpoint affirmed,
When honours prick, when worming doubt I feel,
Or when you always stroke against the fur
Or the sound of glass when scraped by steel.

I hate complacency content and sated -
I’d rather see brakes well and truly fail.
That the word "honour" is forgot, I hate it,
And that "honour" is hiding lies and veils.

I feel no pity seeing broken wings
And it’s not strange I don’t find it inside:
I hate abuse, and I hate helpless things
But it’s too bad that Christ was crucified.

I hate myself, when cowardly I crawl;
Innocents being beaten, I abhor,
I hate it, when they push into my soul,
And spitting in it, I hate even more.

I hate manèges and arenas; there
They trade rubles for millions, hand in glove.
Let changes come ahead; I do not care -
These things I will never, ever love!