To bits... The imperial crown is blown, There’s no power, there’s no throne. Russia’s life and laws we’ve known Go to hell! And we, Like wild beasts trapped in their warrens, Like the robbers caught by wardens - Only blood and shame and sorrow Can do well. And we... We cannot decide, I swear, Who to break with or keep near? Who’s for us, and who’s to fear? What’s our path? It’s far from clear - Unaware! Where’s soul? Where’s fame? Where’s shame? Who’s our own and who’s a stranger? Is there any chance to change it? When our Russia is in danger, Do we care? Shame on Everyone who keep on hiding, Everyone who’s still deciding Whether they are fit for fighting, For a kill. The sign! Like a wolf in all its glory, Like a falcon on its quarry... Call the crows to tell the story Of the meal. Hey, you! What has happened to your firmness? Where’s your pride and where’s your fairness? To relax today is meanness! The revolver is gripped tightly by a hand. The end for all, the end. Everything is broken, shattered, All that’s left for us won’t matter: The last bullet for your foe Or for your head.
© Kirill Tolmachev. Translation, 2024