And there in a gloomy land, the evil province, A brave man was fated to have thorns and sloes. There he had scooped the insults with a full hand, There he had passed through grief, the bitter case. Drink a poison, pour it out of your cup! No one will seek for payment, all the cord, Being twisting before you, at one time Will be plaited into one whip long. Whip is driving all the losers through the world Only with small bag; life is dripping as A thin web though the fingers, and some boys Were unhappy to be put to prison dwell By the valiant road, where they Ought to clench their teeth to bare, To sustain the cord, whichís twisting bad, Plaiting in the hard-whip state. Hey, the valiant land, I raced you much, But have seen the only "red place", and slim cord... To all "hanged" ones devil licks their heels such, That you laugh, you feel vexed, mother honest! And you couldnít live well, or to go through! Donít mourn, donít cry, but laugh! Anyway the cord, whichís twisting longly, Will be cut up at some place one lime! Night brings thoughts, which are the worser variant. Carpenters are ready. Hardly you Will prepare yourself for the morning prayer, All the way - the hang too early, too... Letís see your cord - no any knot. Lay down and warm yourself a little! You shanít miss your execution, your cord Surely in great loop is now twisting...
© Lyudmila Purgina. Translation, 2014