Blade of a boat has cut a dolphinís gut. Life on the road can be extremely hard. Itís a disaster when shots have come to end. You should be faster making a bent. Worry tears sails of glory! Sorry, sorry, sorry... You on patrol might not confront a foe. Out of control can be a sense of woe. Notice door hinges - they either sing or squeak: Many of tinges - what for you seek? Worry tears sails of glory! Sorry, sorry, sorry... Long live all those who still can sing in sleep. All lands can go under the water deep, All crops they grow can be by fire reaped - Sets my sights low, - thatís all I need! Worry tears sails of glory! Sorry, sorry, sorry...
© Vyacheslav Chistyakov. Translation, 2023