Vladimir Vysotsky. The Abortive Flifht.

There’s only ice above me and below...

There’s only ice above me and below,
And what have I to break—the bottom or the top?
Forget thy fears, I’ll go up with the hope
On our meeting, and of course my further job.

Ice of the top, do crack and come apart!
I sweat for like a tiller in the harvest time.
And I’ll for sure come back to thee, my love,
Just as I wrote of in that sea song of mine.

My age is young—I’ve crossed my forties slightly.
I’m saved by God and for twelve years by thee, my wife.
I’ve gotten what to sing to the Almighty,
And I believe my songs will justify my life.

1980.

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