Down by the Volga walks the lonely Boatsman
Towing on his back that celestial plain
From the heavens above, the Lord shows his hand
But the Boatsman simply laughs – the hand contains cocaine.
And down the Volga – memories of the Golden Horde
And up the Volga – damsels transfixed on the shore
Such Kozelsky brew, such a watery flood
Oh pale blue snow, freeze my blood to the core.
How the winter simply calmed us with its iron and ice
Pacified us, then quietly turned into spring
When the snow starts to melt – oh what that shall entice
When the ice starts to break – oh how I shall sing.
Is this just the Volga or the Biblical Flood?
Or simply a lord and the traces he sweeps?
But I couldn't care less, I'm almost ready, my love
I am ready to sing to you out from the deep
And from the dark of the deep, oh how the bells sing
From behind the old wall comes a chizh* to be believed
Oh forgive me my sins with the wave of your wing
Oh forgive me my sins – say something please.
So burn Seraphim golden winged-pomp
Bum and fear not your own guiding star
I couldn't care less, I've misplaced the bit to chomp
I have no other path – just wherever you are.
So here's our whole life: either Secam or Pal
Either full collapse or the Savior will dote
Going outside to find the start of it all
Got drunk and fell down - and that's all she wrote
The ravens are silent, it's the women who scream
With a howl from the boon docks or some sisterly lore
Either the Saving Fast or some saving poison
Don't you hear my knock – please open the door.
So count us with the angels or among the boar
But please don't be mute, I can't make it without fire
Wherever I may roam I keep knocking at the door
But oh my Lord above, have mercy on me, Sire.
' Chizh is a kind of small bird.