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Alexander Vertinsky

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What I Have to Say

I don't know who would need it and what was their reason,
Who's sent them to their deaths with unquivering hand,
They've been granted no mercy when people were easing
Their bodies in wet graveyard sand.
 
Cautious onlookers silently kept adjusting their fur coats,
And some woman from motley crowd with contorted pale face
Kissed the blue lips of her beloved, the deceased [one] she used to dote,
And she threw her gold wedding ring at the chaplain apace.
 
They were covered with green fir boughs and with dirty sand layers,
Then spectators went home to discuss on the sly
That it's high time to end all this [sad] disgrace and say prayers,
That the famine is coming soon and we'll have to scrape by.
 
And no one had a simple thought just to get down on his knees
And to tell these deceased young boys that in this dismal land
Even glorious feats are just steps to endless abysses,
To the Spring that is out of reach, that is splendid and grand.
 
I don't know who would need it and what was their reason,
Who's sent them to their deaths with unquivering hand,
Only they had no mercy when people were easing
Their bodies in wet graveyard sand.
 
(c) St.Sol: all rights reserved.

Foreign Cities

Random rumors brought these words to me,
Lovely yet unneeded words from thee:
'Summer Garden, Neva and its creeks.'1
 
Where and why did you, the stray words, come?
Here's just noise of cities, strange and glum,
Here foreign waters splash and hum,
And the unfamiliar star stays mum.
 
I can't take you, hide, or drive away...
We must live: remembrance leads astray,
And it also hurts - I don't want pain,
I don't want my heart to cry again.
 
All it happened, happened, now it's past,
Now it's covered by a snowstorm blast.
That's why I feel vain and free at last...
 
Where and why did you, the stray words, come?
Foreign gents live in here and then some,
Foreign joy, misfortunes of the scum.
We're forever strangers to all them!..
 
  • 1. Landmarks of St. Petersburg, Russia
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Cocainette

Versions: #2
Why are you crying here, lonely, foolish child
Crucified by cocaine in the wet boulevards of Moscow?
Your slim neck is barely covered by fur collar.
And it's bold, wet and amusing, like You...
 
You've been poisoned already with boulevard's autumn slush
And I know, if you scream, you can go insane, no doubt.
And when you'll die on this bench, all nightmarish
You little purple corpse the darkness will wrap in a shroud...
 
So, don't cry, it's not worth it, my lonely child.
Crucified by cocaine in the Moscow wet boulevards.
Better wrap your slim neck with the fur collar tighter
And go there, where no one will ask You, who You are.