Nu vot i u menia razzudilos plecho i razmahnulas ruka na takoe bolshoe delo, kak perevod pesen B.B. Grebenshikova na angliski yazyk. Itak,
KOZLI - GOATS
Standing in stand "attention",
Dancing in soul "break-dance",
Dreaming that you are General,
Dreaming that you are extra-sense.
Knowing that you are implementation
Of century-eternal dream.
All peace is decoration and here appear you.
Goats, goats, my words are not especially polite, but and not very mean.
I constatire fact.
Goats! In circle "sad hands" all say how eat,
But whom from this joy?
Whom from this pride?
By what more you say,
With what you are in price.
In work we like ice-hole (?),
In bed we like on war.
Goats, goats...
Knitting in own rightedness,
Tieing in knots.
I also this, only worse.
And I say what I know: goats.
Still I not become clover,
Still you not become line,
Our bodies - sword,
In our souls quiet.
Our respiration holy,
We move all love.
Bot give us few power, Lord,
We all squish under self.
Goats, goats.. My words not very good, but and not very mean.
Me simple sad what we may be be people...
(Uf-f-f, trudno! Azh vspotel! Nu, chto skazhete?)