VARRAVA - Весна
текст песни

Spring, fair Spring—on what did you arrive?
On a little whip, on a little yoke;
On a plowshare, on a harrow;
On a spinning wheel.
Spring.

Venous.
My blood boils. I walk in circles,
Forever cursing the weather.
You sleep, while I chase after this taut, elusive Spring,
Squandering the air with my lungs.
You await the Spring.
I, too, would have joined the flash mob,
And walked hatless through the frost.
I just don't understand—
Do you truly believe
That we will be together forever? There’s a storm brewing—
You really ought to put up your hood.

Brother Fear stepped out, pacing back and forth at the head;
And close behind him followed our Freedom—on porcelain legs.
On one leg, an iron hoop and a battered greatcoat;
On the other—nothing but a couple of drops of "Chanel."
A curious crowd spilled out from the gates—
Some hawking this, some selling that.
They sought out Conscience—with Shame leading the way—
But no one was selling it, and no one would take it, even for free.
There was nowhere left to repent, and no cares left to bear;
Axes and shovels were distributed equally—work enough for everyone.
Woodchips flew—but then came a twist in the tale:
They set out to build a bridge, but what emerged was a sturdy scaffold.

No one around—for thousands of deaths,
For light-centuries. Just swarms of dragonflies.
Only the barking of dogs—and of things as terrifying as humans—
The low hum of the *Nedotykomki*... deep within a thicket of drunken tears.
There is no rising into the sky. A subtle fear, like a needle,
Like a fish in a net, was caught within my skin.
Above me, only a blind swarm of wasps—
The jutting chins of boulders, foreheads hard as steel.

Our voices—slender, resonant;
Breathe out your words in a thin, steady stream.
You stand guard behind me; you burn in a vivid flame.
Speak what you think—and think before you speak.

But is it worth it—
To wait for millions of messages—
If suddenly everyone has died?
If they have abandoned me—
Left me lying on the sand or on the gravel,
Like a turtle flipped upon its back,
Or left me dangling from a gallows’ noose?

Our voices—slender, resonant;
Breathe out your words in a thin, steady stream.
You stand guard behind me; you burn in a vivid flame.
Speak what you think—and think before you speak.

Spring, fair Spring—on what did you arrive?
Upon a little whip, upon a little yoke?
Upon the plow, upon the harrow?
Upon a spinning wheel?
Spring!