Weíve been rotating the world back from the border,
It was true at the beginning,
But our battallion commander has turned it around,
Pushing his foot against the Ural.
Finally, weíve got the order to attack,
To take back the bits and pieces of our land,
But we do remember the sun going backwards
And almost setting at the east.
We donít pace along the world,
Disturbing the flowers for no reason, -
We push it with our boots
And the haystacks have bended under the eastern wind,
And the flocks of sheep are clinging to the rocks.
We have moved the Earthís axis without a lever,
Just by changing the direction of attack.
Donít be afraid if the sunset is misplaced,
The Day of Judgement is just a fairy tale for adults.
Itís just that our marching troops
Rotate the world wherever they want.
We are crawling, embracing the hillocks,
Hugging the tussocks angrily, with no love,
And we push the world with our knees
Even if someone wanted, they wouldnít have found
Anyone with their hands up.
The bodies are very useful to everyone alive:
We hide ourselves behind the fallen.
Will the stupid cold lead find everyone at once,
Will it strike point-blank or from the rear?
...Someone out there in front thrust himself on a gun slit,
And the world momentarily stopped.
I have left my feet behind,
And, casually mourning the fallen,
Iím rotating the world with my elbows -
Someone stood up and, making a bow,
Accepted his inspiratory bullet.
But the batallion is crawling west, west,
So that the sun would rise at the east!
Our bellies in mud, we inhale the stench of bogs,
But we turn a blind eye to the smell.
The sun is moving normally across the sky now,
Because we are pushing for the west.
Whether our arms and legs are in thei place or not, -
Tasting the dew, as if in a wedding,
We are pulling the world with our teeth, by the grass, -
To us and away!