Wherever I may drag my soul, adrift or gone to ground. My helpless fate - a mangy dog - trots everywhere along. I tried to pelt the cur with stones - but she still stuck around; With bulging eyes she gazed at me, spit dribbling from her tongue. My fate’s such a bother, I’m lost in a pother, My eyes become duller, My heart feels a sting. My guts begin freezing. I can’t go on breathing, I’m not good at living, I don’t want to sing. But these aren’t sorrows A hangman can’t cure. I’ll swing from the gallows - And pay him his due. I often swore I’d boot my fate to hell, and stop this nonsense, But she would whine and tremble so - I pitied the damn clod. Then out of pity I began to feed her juicy morsels - When she has eaten all she wants, she always sleeps a lot. Then I will go whooping It up - I’ll go ripping - How I will go nipping All over the place! But I guard the puppy. And I do the yapping - Whenever I’m happy, Whenever I please! I’d rather die young, man, I should be strung up. A job for the hangman - I’ll pay for the job. I sometimes get into such scrapes, such free-for-alls and carnage. That even fate in fear recoils, and cowers, pale, a-tremble. One day I poured the fink a drink, to give it liquid courage. Since then, the cur has turned a booze-hound, and - she’ll even grumble: What swill we’re drinking! You know, I keep thinking You’d be less a stinker In New York - by far!.. Then I in a hurry Fate on my back carry - I know I can’t tarry - We must find a bar! It seems I grow callous, I’m getting fed up. I’d swing from the gallows - And pay for the job. One day my fate went over the eight - I poured and erred a little. She went completely off the rails and off her chump, the sot. She bawled and swore and snarled and kicked, my ugly fate turned fatal, And, jumping on me from behind, she caught me by the throat. Unbearable, really, I choke - it’s too silly, I plead willy-nilly - Half-strangled, I wheeze: Let go, you damn bully! Let go, you damn bully! Let go, you damn bully! I can’t sing like this! I’m telling you fellows, If someone strings up My fate from the gallows - I’ll pay for the job!
© Sergei Roy. Translation, 1990