Will you heat up the bath-hut, the "white" way, Iíve been off from the wide for so long, Iíll feel giddy, and then, to me, heady, A hot vapor, no, a cold bail, will loosen the tongue. Will you heat up the bath-hut, good lady - I will anger myself, getting warm. Up the benchskirts, close to the very edge, Iíll exterminate all pangs of qualm. I will slacken off up to indecency, Then - a cold bail to set vein at rest. And the brand of the Stalin Cult days, again, Will show blue, tattooed, on the left breast. Will you heat up the bath-hut, the "white" way, Iíve been off from the wide for so long. Iíll feel giddy, and then, to me, heady, A hot vapor will loosen the tongue. So much faith has been toppled, so much woodís been felled, Lots of grief tasted, lots of tracks passed. Stalinís profile stands out on the left breast, On the right one - Marinka en face. For my selfless devotion and steadfast faith Years and years I enjoyed "paradise", Having bartered away utter foolishness For a gloomy, unbearable life. Will you heat up the bath-hut, the "white" way, Iíve been off from the wide for so long, Iíll feel giddy, and then, to me, heady, A hot vapor will loosen the tongue. I remember myself, on an early morn, Having time just to yell: Bro, help out! And two guards drove me off my Siberian home To another Siberian spot. Later, be it in marshes or quarries, Suffocating from tears and from grass, Close to hearts we tattooed Stalinís profiles So he heard throbbing break our hearts. Donít you heat up the bath-hut the "white" way, Iíve been off from the wide for so long, Iíll feel giddy, and then, to me, heady, A hot vapor will loosen the tongue. What a chill through a scrupulous story! Steamís dispelled all the thoughts from my head. From the mist of a cold, cruel history I am dipping into hot, eddy haze. Doubts are painfully hammering under crown Whether I should have branded myself, And I heartily lash with a birch-twig truss Against the heritage of the Dark Age. Will you heat up the bath-hut, the "white" way, Iíve been off from the wide for so long, Iíll feel giddy, and then, to me, heady, A hot vapor, no, a cold bail, will loosen the tongue.
© Vyacheslav Chetin. Translation, 2009