Along the bluff, above abyss, on the very very edge, I am whipping my steeds, I am hurrying Oh, the air is thin! I drink wind, swallow mist. With a desperate ecstasy I feel perishing, Iím perishing! Slow down the steeds, please slow down Donít obey to my stiffest whip! But my steeds have happened so squeamish... Iíve failed to live my life through, I would fail to finish the song... I - will water the steeds, I - will finish quatrain, Just to stand for a bit, At the edge... Iíll vanish: the hurricane will blow me away, the flake from the palm. They will draw me in sledge by snow in morning... Switch to walk, my steeds, donít hurry! Just prolong a bit this way to the last refuge! Slow down the steeds, please slow down Donít obey to my stiffest whip! But my steeds have happened so squeamish... Iíve failed to live my life through, I would fail to finish the song... I - will water the steeds, I - will finish quatrain, Just to stand for a bit, At the edge... Weíre in time: you cannot be late to the Godís heaven. But why angels are singing with such wicked voices? Or, is this the sledge bell, suffocating with sobs? Or, I am shouting the steeds do not pull the sledge so fast? Slow down the steeds, please slow down Donít obey to my stiffest whip! But my steeds have happened so squeamish... As I failed through my life, Let me finish the song! I - will water the steeds, I - will finish quatrain, Just to stand for a bit, At the edge...
© ?. Translation, 2006