You left yesterday, for a week or so;
I donít miss you, though, in the least -
For Iím now in transit to Bodaibo,
In a cattle car headed East.
You wonít weep for me, you wonít call my folks,
But, my dear, I donít give a damn -
For the next ten years Iíll be pounding rocks,
Mining gold for our Motherland.
Now the wheels have stopped, and at last Iím here,
No more tracks or ties, only turf...
I would like to cry, but I have no tears,
There are no more tears left on Earth.
You donít have to wait, you donít have to mourn,
Donít be sad that Iím in the can;
Just remember, now and forevermore:
God forbid our paths cross again.
I will tough it out till my term expires,
Iíll come out alive - that, Iíll bet!
But as I sleep on plank-beds behind barbed wire,
I will try my best to forget.
Here, the cold is bad and the wind is worse,
And blue forests are my only views...
At my back are six thousand kilometers,
And ahead - ten years of the blues.