Your bright eyes cut like a knife:
When you look me in the eyes,
I forget of who I am and where Iím from;
When you look at me rebuked,
It feels like a cutting wound
From a cleaver that is razor-sharp and cold!
I am well, I donít pretend,
Nickels I can break by hand,
And I recently headbutted a bull to death.
But to live with you is tough,
Not your bend-a-horseshoe task,
And to kill you I donít have the moral strength.
Has there ever been a time
When I run from home at night?
But youíre never by my side where you belong.
After stealing I head home;
Youíre not there, and so I roam:
I am searching round the town all day long.
Iíve been running like a tyke,
Even bought myself a bike,
So itís easier to suffer in my hunts.
By a dump truck I was hit,
Sklifosóvsky1 took me in,
But you didnít come to see me even once.
And the doc, a good old man,
Looked quite dull and sullen then:
He was stitching up my wound for six long days.
Anesthesia wore off,
And a question soon was posed:
Who is she for whom I risk my life in vain?
Donít you be over the moon,
My discharge is coming soon,
And Iíll have revenge on you so much deserved!
I am telling you, old snake:
I will hone my razor blade,
And Iíll shave your pretty head completely bald!