Over me my bride shall weep long and deeply, And my pals will cover all my debts for me. Others will sing songs, merrily and neatly, And perhaps my enemies have one drink to me. I stopped getting any interesting novels, My guitar today is so out of tune. I cannot go higher, I cannot go lower, I canít have the sun, I canít have the moon. I cannot go out: Iím deprived of power, I can only walk wall-to-wall it seems. I cannot go leftward, I cannot go rightward, I can have a patch of sky, I can have my dreams. Dreams about the time when all locks are open, When I will get out, my guitar with me. Who will meet me there? Will there be embracing? What will be the songs they will sing to me?
© Kirill Tolmachev. Translation, 2021