Through evil fortune, I’ve lost my freedom, I still have my guitar that sobs and sings. You can cut my throat and you can cut my veins, But do not tear these silver strings... Finished before I started, I shall be buried soon, Unmourned and unknown; They’ve crawled into my soul, tearing it to bits; If they’d only leave these silver strings alone... They took the guitar and with it my freedom I fought them, called them bastards, bitches; You’ve trampled me in the mud, stepped all over me But do not tear these silver strings of my guitar. Well, brothers, dear pals, you are so far, so far, Happy days, moonless nights I shall never see... They have ruined my life, broken my heart, And have ripped the silver strings of my guitar...
© Misha Allen. Translation, 1971