Opacity measuring in cincinnati,
Immersing yourself into judgement-free darkness,
Now that there are no Tibulls on the ropes,
You will not see them. And you just know why.

Why didn’t you found yourself, didn’t  leave then,
You're sitting and waiting until there's a flood:
"The Raven" and lips that are red with a laughter
Will tear you apart with a whip and a hook?!

Well you can sleep, listen to music, sip coffee,
And frown and just dick around and things,
But in the loose chaff that is left from what's golden
There are no words, no scales to be found.

And when they will come to you tearing off scabbers,
The old incorruptible seekers of lice,
What will you then tell? That you've heard constellations,
That's why blood is gushing away from the ears.

Перевод текста Ивана Клинового

Непрозрачность измеряя в цинциннатах,
Погружаясь в безоценочную тьму,
Никаких теперь Тибулов на канатах,
Не увидишь. Сам же знаешь, почему.

Что же ты не спохватился, не уехал,
А сидишь и ждёшь, покуда грянет гром:
«Nevermore», – и губы, красные от смеха,
Разорвут тебе нагайкой и багром?!

Можно спать, сидеть за кофе, хмурить брови,
Слушать музыку, попинывать хуи,
Но в оставшейся от золота полове
Не найти уже ни слов, ни чешуи.

И когда придут к тебе срывать коросты
Неподкупные искательницы вшей,
Что ты скажешь им? Что ты услышал звёзды,
Потому-то кровь и хлещет из ушей.

give in  give up give way
accept that night is grey
accept that day is blue
and cut a tunnel
through the rocks and sand and sea
don't look you will not see
how planet falls apart
give way give in give up

Smelly fat is slowly melting in copper lamp.
- Oh tell me a story mother, please tell be a chap!
And such a story that in every word there's a solid terror!
“And will you be able to sleep if I’ll really tell you?”

OK, listen: once every ten springs in the neighboring space
An angry evil creeps up from some distant place.
He knows the words of animals and birds of prey,
He gives bitter grief to those he encounters on the way.
Whether you're riding, walking, flying - there's one outcome:
A crimson trail gleams on a fluffy cushion of scum.
Under a hill, in a swamp, in a pool, in a network of traps -
No matter how you hide, you can't hide anywhere, it's all same.
Do you hear, do you hear the onerous stamping of stallion?
The horseshoes are clanging and clanging over the cobblestones.
A caftan is burning with a bright flame between the trees,
And the ground behind him is just scorched emptiness.
It would be nice for all of us to survive in his spring...
But that's enough, honey. It's time to go to sleep.

She just got up: the little man-thing son grabbed her sleeve:
- What is the name of that evil, mom?
- St. George, my dear...

Перевод текста Ванечки