Текст песни Н.Прилепский - Песня откапываемого покойника

How strange, dear friend,
that stone pressed
not forever in the grave
we have to lie
what's in the ground to pain
biting with a shovel,
will find us with you
some bastard.

Yes, we would be
probably howled
when not for skeletons
whenever alive.
But the lungs are rotten
and monster in the ear
do not squeeze out of rot
despair of sounds.

And they will be nervous
us these seconds
and the air will become us
infusion of the cycles
when guests from heaven
they’ll get into our grave,
to clean our bones
pieces of iron.

But it will be, dear friend,
much lousier
when without a wake
decay like we lice
when downstream
ordinary everyday
once a descendant
will forget about us

when on the hill
this old hill
the descendant will drive
mooing herd.
But the same coin
he will receive a fee -
no past
with today's slad.

Let the wind blow
our ashes will not dispel.
No torture in the world
stronger than oblivion.
And the one who is calm
digging our broomstick
even reminds people
that we were lying here.

Will open again
grave, but a demon with her!
Do not throw out the words
from a folded song.
Let the ground to pain
biting with a shovel,
will find us with you
some bastard.