Текст песни
I have but one amusement left
Fingers to my lips — a merry whistle!
A wicked rumour’s spread instead
That I’m a coarse man, prone to trouble
Ah! What a funny kind of loss!
So many funny losses in life’s course
I’m ashamed I once believed in God
It grieves me now I don’t believe, alas
Golden, distant vistas, far and bright!
Life’s foul stench consumes them all from sight
And coarse I’ve been, and caused a stir
Just to burn more brightly — this was my aim, my spur
A poet’s gift — to soothe, to wound, to sear
A fateful mark is set upon him here
A white rose with a black toad, I’d wed
Upon this earth — a vision in my head
Let it not have worked, let it not come true
Those thoughts of rosy days, so pure, so new
But if devils nested deep within my soul
Then angels must have lived there — that’s the whole
For this wild joy, this turbid glee
As I depart for lands I cannot see
I want, in my final agony
To ask those who stay beside me, pleadingly
That for all my grave and weighty sins
For my lack of faith, for all my inner whirls
They lay me in a Russian shirt, within
The quiet light of icons — as the world unfurls
