My friend has left for Magadan.
Take off your hats; wish him the best!
He went himself -
Without police, without arrest1.

Not because he wasn’t doing well,
Or ’cause he’s an oddball,
as some tell.
He simply went.

I know that some will ask, "What for?
Why give up everything you have?
What’s out there but labor camps galore
Full of murderers, full of murderers?"

He answers them, "The rumors are untruer"
"Moscow has as many murderers, too",
Then he packed a suitcase - only one -
And left for Magadan, for Magadan.

It’s not that I’m too old, you know.
(The other night I jumped off a moving tram.)
But Magadan’s no place for mc to go,
Closing chapters, forgetting who I am.

Instead, I’ll sing to the sounds of my guitar
Of what he’ll see out there so far,
Of what he’s never seen before.
Of Magadan, of Magadan.

No guards will beat him on this trip.
He went of his own free will.
He volunteered to work up North,
Having had of us his fill!

And what has God in store for me?
Perhaps to Magadan I’ll flee,
And see what my old friend’s about,
Myself drop out!