Your bright eyes cut like a knife:
When you look me in the eyes,
I forget of who I am and where I’m 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 don’t 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 don’t have the moral strength.

Has there ever been a time
When I run from home at night?
But you’re never by my side where you belong.
After stealing I head home;
You’re not there, and so I roam:
I am searching round the town all day long.

I’ve been running like a tyke,
Even bought myself a bike,
So it’s easier to suffer in my hunts.
By a dump truck I was hit,
Sklifosóvsky1 took me in,
But you didn’t 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?

Don’t you be over the moon,
My discharge is coming soon,
And I’ll have revenge on you so much deserved!
I am telling you, old snake:
I will hone my razor blade,
And I’ll shave your pretty head completely bald!