Yanka Dyagileva - Рижская Лирицс транслатион то енглисх

Riga Song

Versions: #3
And you do throw your words right into my ice hole,
You do throw your daggers at my door panel,
Throw your peas against my walling by the handful,
Throw your seeds in the contaminated ground.
 
There are the shreds of pennoncels on the rampike.
There are the snippings of rope’s ends on the smashed lanterns.
There are dim glasses on the decolourized keekers.
There are white stones on the frostbitten ground.
 
Throw your seed pearls before the swine upturned snout.
Throw the unreal purses to the thoroughfare.
Throw coins into the variegated cloth caps.
And your songs – to the great yawning abysm.
 
There are the stale bread and the roaches in my corner.
There are the colour paints and voice in my hellhole.
And in my blood there sand and mud are bein’ blended,
The mattress’ got the hands that had been beforehand.
 
And in the street the pits for trees are being burrowed,
The little ones are catapulting the street cats,
The cats are crying at the top of their throats,
The cats are falling into the empty wellholes.
 
And you do throw your words right into my ice hole,
You do throw your daggers at my door panel,
Throw your peas against my walling by the handful.
 


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