Dip your hand in ash, dip it in ice.
It could happen by chance, it could be home,
But see here your pain, and let carry you on wings,
Steel, graceful as a swan in the clouds, is still waiting.
I always used to be alone- the right of the arrow,
But noone is ever alone, even if he could be,
May the colour of our eyes be as hopeless as ice in March,,
But we will become like dreams, and then our dreams will not be so dark.
So dip your hand in clover, dip it in honey,
Let Desire, following in our wake, grow like a shadow.
We have lived out the night, so let us see how the days turns out.
Steel, graceful as a swan in the clouds- Onward!
I have tried to extract sense from this one. Perhaps that is not the thing to do, especially with Pravo Strely, and the enigmatic Lebedinaya Stal, but I thought it best to take Boris on, rather than leave a meaningless line in English.