I do not trust mirages in the sun,
I never packed my bags for paradise.
My teachers washed ashore near Magadan,
They were all swallowed by a sea of lies.

The ignorant and I weren’t far apart,
And if we were, the difference was little,
For Budapest has failed to break my heart,
And Prague has also failed to leave a splinter.

We were just fumblers, boys who were neglected:
In life, on stage, we made a lot of noise,
But we will soon be noticed and respected.
Hey! Who’s against us? - Time to kick them, boys!

But long before the cold was at our doors,
We had developed a keen sense of danger,
For clarity would come like shameless whores,
And lock up every soul against all strangers.

We lived not daring to look up from fear,
Though we were not mowed down by firing squads.
We, too, are children of the dreadful years;
Eternity poured vodka into us.