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I"m tired of living in my land

I"m tired of living in my land

With boring fields and buckwheat fragrant,

I"ll leave my home for ever, and

Begin the life of thief and vagrant.

I’ll walk through silver curls of life

In search of miserable dwelling.

My dearest friend will whet his knife

On me. The reason? There’s no telling.

The winding yellow road will go

Across the sunlit field of flowers,

The girl whose name I cherish so

Will turn me out of her house.

I will return back home to live

and see the others feeling happy,

I’ll hang myself upon my sleeve,

On a green evening it will happen.

The silky willows by the fence

Will bend their tops low down, gently,

To dogs barking, by my friends,

Unwashed, I will be buried plainly.

The moon will float up in the sky

Dropping the oars into the water...

As ever, Russia will get by

And dance and weep in every quarter.

Now all is set, and I forsake

Now all is set, and I forsake

My homeland’s woods and sunlit glare.

No longer will the poplars cleave

Their winged foliage in my hair.

The low house stoops without my height,

My faithful dog has long licked sod.

On crooked Moscow streets at night

I am to die, so promised God.

This town of elms, I love it well,

Decrepit, flabby – be it so.

And drowsy golden Asia’s swell

Has died upon the rounded domes.

And when the moonlight gilds the sky

Who knows just how it got that far!

My head hung down, I then espy

Across the street a well-known bar.

In foulest lair of noise and grime,

Through all the night until day’s brink,

To hookers I will read sweet rhyme,

And heat my bones with thugs and drink.

My heart will rise as throbbing sun,

Then I will say, in whispered shout:

“I’m just like you, O fallen one

I also have now no way out.”

On crooked streets in Moscow bright,

My loving dog has fled the rod;

My measly house has stooped in fright:

I am to die, thus deemed my God

Translated by Alec Vagapov