Some day I shall die - For some day we all reach our last destination. And Iíd rather be stabbed from behind, Than decease just like that in my bed. People pity the killed, pay them tribute And promise salvation in Heaven... Iím not sure of the living, However, we cherish the dead. Falling with my face into the mud, Dramatically turning body to one side, And on stolen old horses My soul will then gallop ahead. In the magical Gardens of Heaven Pale-rose colored apples Iíll gather... Itís too bad that the gardens are guarded, - They shoot without a miss right in to face. When we got to the place What I saw there wasnít from Heaven: Dead and wide open space, Barren soil with no life, pure emptiness And a huge iron gate Towering over the boundless desert, And a crowd of enslavered-like, Thousand of them - on their knees. Now the wheel-horse got very excited, I calmed him by calling him softly, And removed all the prickles on him, And smoothed out his mane. In the mean time, a grey-haired man fumbled, Humbling and grumbling, with the bolt, But, alas, his attempts were vain And he left. Some day I shall die For some day we all reach our last destination. And Iíd rather be stabbed from behind, Than decease just like that in my bad. People pity the killed, pay them tribute And promise salvation in Heaven... Iím not sure of the living, However, we cherish the dead. And the exhausted crowd Did not even utter a groan. They just rose from their dead knees to sit up, This is Heaven of criminals and thieves, They are welcoming us with their rings and bells. The Circle has returned to where all of this started, And a crucified body was up there on the cross... Well, we all have some wishes of good things, But was it too much that Iíve been asking for? All I need is my friends, And my wife, - to shed tears on my grave. I shall gather some pale-rose colored apples for them - Itís too bad that the gardens are guarded, - They shoot without a miss right in to face. Iíve recognized whoís the grey-haired man really was By the tears on his old flabby cheeks. It was Peter, the Holy Apostle, While I was a mutt, There they were, the Heavenly Gardens, Where thereís a lot of frozen apples, But itís too bad that the gardens are guarded, - So Iíve received a shot without a miss right in my face. And I drove my horses away From these places that were rotten and frozen, Horses are asking for oats, But I was like a madman Along the cliff with a whip over a precipice, With the bosom full of apples I shall bring them for you: Youíve been waiting for me back from Heaven!
For some day we all reach our last destination. And Iíd rather be stabbed from behind, Than decease just like that in my bed. People pity the killed, pay them tribute And promise salvation in Heaven... Iím not sure of the living...
Some day I shall die For some day we all reach our last destination. And Iíd rather be stabbed from behind, Than decease just like that in my bad. People pity the killed, pay them tribute And promise salvation in Heaven... Iím not sure of the living, Iím not sure of the living...
© ?. Translation, 2013