As I carry my guitar – walls, before me, separate!
I can see no freedom that evil fortune brings!
You can cut my throat, you can slash my veins, irate, -
But be careful not to rip my cherished silver strings!
I'll dig myself into the dirt, and disappear, perhaps, -
Would you shield a tortured youth underneath your wings!
They have climbed into my soul, and tore it into scraps,
I only hope they do not rip my cherished silver strings.
They took my freedom – my guitar, my life is out of order, -
I had to watch these scumbags ravage through my things!
"Kick me straight into the mud, throw me in the water -
But, I beg you, do not rip my cherished silver strings!"
What has happened, brothers? Am I never destined
To observe the sun again, or how the twilight sinks?!
They took away my freedom, left my soul in festers, -
And now they have completely ripped my cherished silver strings...
By Vladimir Vysotsky
Translation by Andrey Kneller