I wish for a cloud or a storm
During that year on my horizon.
But I once met a fellow traveler,
I will talk about him, so get acquainted.
He asked me: "Where to? To Vologda?
Well, to Vologda-itís half of grief".
My trunk is full of bottles of vodka,
So, I suggested as usual -
"Maybe we can drink to our acquaintance.
See who is a better drinker."
He said: "We get off at Vologda,
And Vologda-itís in the North".
I canít remember which one of us drank the most.
I recall, that he kept on filling my glass.
My tongue untied itself like a lace,
I cursed somebody, bewailed someone.
And I woke up in the city Vologda,
But kill me - I donít remember where.
And then I was accused of some treason,
I was introduced to a penal code.
They calmed me down-everythingís in place,
I was given time in a harsh penitentiary.
Theyíre giving me the fifty eighth article1,
Saying: "Donít worry, youíre young."
If Iíd have known whom I drank vodka with,
He would have never reached Vologda.
Soon the years erased all the insults,
But now I live as though in handcuffs -
Oh, how badly I wish to meet him -
That squealer - the fellow traveler.
But he lives in a city Vologda,
While I live in the North-God knows where.