Охота на волков, В. Высоцкий - English

I am ripping my soul from its prison
But I hear just cackles of Fate
Those who chase after me have their Reason
For what laughingly they perpetrate



From the shadow of pines flies the thunder
Hunters fire for pleasure and fame
On the snow before them wolf pack blunders
Having turned into heart-beating aim   



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  This is the Hunting of the Wolves; The Wolf-pack Hunting
  The Hunt of Predators - Both Seasoned and the Pups
  The chasers howling, Hounds' baying is revolting
  Blood colors snow as red as jerking trapping flags 
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It's a massacre and not a duel
Steady aim - our pain isn't felt
Fladry barrier trap is so cruel
From our corpses they cut off our pelt



Our Law, our Instinct, our Essence
Fed to me by Wolf-Mother of mine
And the Pack demonstrates acquiescence
It's forbidden to cross Fladry Line



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Legs are fast, our teeth sharp like beryls
Tell me then, our Leader-of-Clan
We are running straight onto their barrels
When we could just jump over the Ban


You just can't, Not our way - he is chiding
You must not! That's the end of my rope
In the tree I can see Human hiding
Smiling looking at me through his scope


I rebel against Nature and Reason
more than Truths, I desire my life
Hunters gasp, I'm committing my treason
as I cut through the flags like a knife



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