There is the entrance but, you know, I have a habit - donít you hinder - Of coming in through a back-door And going out through a window. I donít want to upset anyone, I can be an unbearable man, I was on the booze yesterday And was badly struck with dismay. I spat upon the drunken ass, Wrapped up my face in curtain tissue And threw myself straight through the glass Into the arms of the militia. All in blood and humiliated, Outraged and infuriated, With a good reputation, I was brought to the station. And, going far over the line, They kicked me, walloped and belabored, And then they made me pay a fine And told me not to be so wayward. Poor creature, all bandaged, And unfairly damaged, I accepted the offer to sleep on the sofa. I woke up in the dead of night And felt my anger was abating, I walked up to the window but It had a heavy iron grating. Well, I had an experience In confronting a hindrance But those bars over there Made me filled me with despair. And when the morning came, you know, I got up shaking and put out, But I walked out. Through the door! And ever since Iíve been in doubt. Life is quiet and ethical, Very clean and symmetrical, I feel low Iím hurt easily, And Iím living in misery.
© Alec Vagapov. Translation, 1998