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-it’s 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-it’s in the North".

I can’t 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 don’t remember where.

And then I was accused of some treason,
I was introduced to a penal code.
They calmed me down-everything’s in place,
I was given time in a harsh penitentiary.

 
 

They’re giving me the fifty eighth article1,
Saying: "Don’t worry, you’re young."
If I’d 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.