To Igor Kokhanovsky
My friend has left to Magadan1.
Take off your hats, men, take off your hats, men!
All by himself, all by himself,
Not in a jail van, not in a jail van.

It’s not because his luck run thin,
It’s not despite of someone’s will,
Not for the talk, that he’s oddball,
It’s just his call. It’s just his call.

And maybe folks will say "How dumb!
How could he choose this? How could he lose this?
Since there are only prison camps,
With all those killers, with all those killers..."

But he replies: "Don’t fall for lies!
They have no more than Moscow has!"
And then he packs his bag and gone:
To Magadan! To Magadan!

It’s not that I’m too old to run,
I’d jump off train steps when night is blackest,
But I don’t move to Magadan,
Forgetting habits and closing brackets.

But I will sing while strumming strings,
Of all those things for him to see,
Of all those things I’ve never done
In Magadan, in Magadan.

My friend is moving there to live;
He’s done with steering, he’s done with steering.
The guards would not be there to beat:
He’s volunteering, he’s volunteering.

And I will live to God’s own plan,
But maybe also - Magadan?
To chase this pal I want to keep
And dive so deep! And dive so deep!