The scream is squeezed, inside the throat, among the chords.
It's all the same if you are mute or if you shout.
But someone won't forget the blood-stained swords
And how the soldiers wiped them with the ground,
And how the black tribe of the crows would flap the wings,
And how the heavens laughed and then shut up,
And how the hands of those who did survive to live
Would tremble and one blink would be enough
To turn into infinity, and how the sunset blazed -
Like a sepulchral fire, above the battered battlefields,
And in the clouds the wolf-like night stars gazed
At the survived who slept beneath without seeing dreams.
And “life” is just a word. There's only love and death.
Hey, who will sing if everyone's asleep?
Death is worth living, fighting till the last deep breath,
And only love`s worth waiting for indeed.
11/04/2017 (tr.) by Victor Tsoy
Виктор Цой, "Легенда"