Like a razor, the sunrise slashes into our eyes Like magic, triggers silently snap their ties Talk of the devil, these snipers draw level. From some rank stream rise these sharp dragonflies. So with a wild will well drive in, into this revel. We lie down on our fronts, our teeth out of sight Even those who break through the red flags- in flight Seek hidden wolf holes with sensitive footsoles; Even those who can outrun the shot from a gun Are shivering and sweating as fear takes control. Life smiles at wolves? Where do I begin? We just cant love life - the love is one way! But death of course has a lovely, wide grin And strong, healthy teeth on ready display. So lets smile at the foe, with our wide wolf-grin. The dogs arent yet beaten, were still not done for Tattooed on the snow, in blood therein: Our signature - were not wolves anymore. Tails tucked in like dogs, we crawl slowly on; Lifting surprised snouts to the sky, we move on. Maybe harsh reprisals have poured from the skies - Or its the end of the world and our minds have been curled - But were knocked flat by steel dragonflies. Were drenched in blood as the guns rain down. We accept our fate; yes, well stand our ground. The heat of our bellies melts the frozen snow. This carnage began not with God but with man! Some are flying. Some are running. Let them go. Let them go! Dont mess with my pack, dogs - that understood? In a fair fight, wed beat you to the last breath. Yes, we are wolves, and our wolves life is good: You are dogs and, for you, it will be a dogs death. So lets smile at the foe, with our wide wolf-grin - To scotch the gossip in this canine war. Tattooed on the snow, in blood therein: Our signature - were not wolves anymore. To the forest - itll save at least some of you! Run, run fast, then its harder to kill you! Run fast, run like hell, save the wolf cubs as well Im on a mad run past half-drunk mens guns And I cry for the lost souls of wolves with each shell. Those still alive, beyond the bank lying low. What can I do alone? Nothing, I know. My vision is grey. My instincts fade away. Oh wolves, where are you? Forest beasts, where are you? Where are you, my yellow-eyed braves? Im alive, yes - but now Im boxed in By those beasts that never heard a wolfs cry They are canines, hounds - our distant kin. They were once our prey, you know, by and by. So I smile at them all with my wide wolf-grin Baring my rotten teeth in my rotting maw But tattooed on the snow, in blood therein: My signature melts - were not wolves anymore...
John Farndon + Olga Nakston. Translation, 2022