500 songs - ain't nothing to sing Heaven turns into a bolted cage Same old words reprinted in a new font A comedian strophe for the falling in an elevator A fair hot wind's blowing down the streets of the province My homeland's eating up its own children like a pig With the implacability of a supersonic drill Gloved hands are rocking a cradle Candles are burning at both ends The deads are burying their own deads... Hey, anyone remember, who's pinned to that Cross? Saints are being put through the mincer with acid Every time I'm told we're together I recall the best deal is "Cargo 200" Mummies are at the helm of the Yellow Submarine "Wheel of Fourtune" reveals itself to be a mincer Patriotism is equal to "just kill the dissidents" This crack runs right through my heart No chance to discern rope ends in the murky water The deads are burying their own deads... I feel myself like a negative exposed to light Dry rage in my heart, taste of iron in my mouth Our luck is made in Hong Kong and in Poland No name on earth suits any longer; There's a time bomb in every young bloom We're moving down that staircase leading downward A tied up bird cannot be singing The falling in the elevator are feeling better every second Dogs are barking at the top of their lungs We weren't taught how to live but how to die proudly You know this is a game for two...
EditBoris showing his dark side? compare with careless ZZZ - what a change! "Cargo 200" is a cynical military code for coffins from Chechnya. I saw there were earlier translations - this is just to supplement