Not space, but metres of soil above me, And, in the mine, weíre not up to holiday processions, But we have both the most extraterrestrial and the most terrestrial of all professions! Isnít any of us as good as any magician?! We hack coal from above the underworld. We extract fuel from demons - no use warming them with our boilers! Blown up, laid out, cobbled together... Black, dependable gold. Yes, we ourselves are like devils, in the dust, But our train doesnít leave empty. We plague the womb of Mother Earth, but, on the Earth, its warmer and more secure. Little wagons, warming the soul, Are carried through, like in a racing film - And of the joke "Give the country coal!", we feel the weight on our own shoulders. Blown up, laid out, cobbled together... Black, dependable gold.         Fields pitted out by funnels... Donít forget them - and look back in anger - But, blessed Earth, do forgive us, For burrowing in your womb.             Donít be scared of getting lost in the dark and choking on dust - youíre not alone! Forwards and backwards! We wonít be a shield - We ourselves pitted out these labyrinths! Blown up, laid out, cobbled together... Black, dependable gold.
© ?. Translation, 2016