How painful is to feign alive and rapt... А. Блок

[Aдаптированный авторский перевод поэмы Александра Блока "Как тяжко мертвецу среди людей..." - спустя век после её создания.]
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How painful is to feign alive and rapt
Amidst the men, while being deadly!
Yet, have to, should worm into crowd badly
To get the rank, as clanking bones adapt...

The life-lings dream. The dead-man leaves his coffin
To show in bank, on trial, in senate...
When night grows whiter, blackened is his loathing,
And pencils creak for dreary parade.

Throughout the day he sweats over the papers.
Attendance is completed. Then he flirts –
Like wagging twat – to senator’s containers      
By whispering a scabrous anecdote...

Then evening. Fiddle rain has smeared splashes 
On people and their homes, and other rot...
But dead-man – weak for more disgraceful lashes – 
Is carried by the cab to any sod,

Who flock the halls of suffocating pillars
There dead-man comes. He’s flourishing in frock,
Presented by the favourable cheers
Of master – stupid, and his missus – frog.

He feels exhausted by the daily clerkish boredom,
Yet, clanking bones’ are hidden by the chants...
He shakes their hands – to thank, to feed their Sodom,
To seem alive, alive he must pretence!

When, by the pillar, he would meet a lady –
A friend, whose eye – as deadly as if his,
Beyond their talks of simulated credit
You might uncover unassumed reprise:

“My weary man, I’m stranded in this chamber.” –
“My weary man, the sepulchre is cold.” –
“The midnight rang.” – “But, still you have to enter
The waltz with N. She’s gasping for your hold...”

And there is N – intended for the pleasure
Of grasping him, him – ravishing the blood...
Her mellow face reflects a girlish treasure
Of hollow urge to letting love in heart...

He shrouds her in voluble delusions,
Those thrilling words – which needed by alive,
Her shoulders pink, as they depict allusions,   
Her head – his chest, as their figures thrive...

As lavishes wit adder of his anger
On living world – as should the dead-man spite...
“Oh, he is bright! How amorously right!”      
 
Though, to her ears – muttered deadly blight:
Thus bones at bones are clanking.