Poems and Songs of Vladimir Vysotsky.
Don’t ye find fault with my young age...
Don’t ye find fault with my young age,
In such a case the years are unimportant—
The Christ was sold at his middle age,
And I was a teenager only.
Let us compare his lot with mine—
He had eleven apostles to confide in,
And I do think here day and night—
Which one of my true friends confined me?