~ Alexander Bashlachev

It's been a long way in frost and heat.
We've seen it all and skipped no beat.
We'd gobble snow with birch-tree mess
And grew as tall as tower bells.

When crying, we spared no salt,
When feasting—sugar glaze.
Bell-ringers, with their callous hold,
Would fray the nerves of copper amps.

But times are changing way too fast,
Domes are stripped of golden plates.
Bell-ringers have gone bust,
And bells are crushed like beer cans.

And here we go—we go about
Skulking in our own lands.
If bell-ringers ain't around,
It's high time for jingle bands.

Hearts will chime behind our ribs,
Ravens, shoo! To the four winds fly!
Hey! Where's the steeds?
Let's pull off a sunrise ride!

But the steeds've long stayed unshod,
No wheels 've been oiled up.
Whip is gone, saddles' copped,
And all knots've come undone.

In the rain, all roads' like sky bows,
Trouble's brewing—it's no fun!
Bells are waiting in the harness,
So, c'mon, let's have a run!

We'll clatter, snap and whistle!
It'll rattle to your very bones!
Hey, old chaps, have a listen
To cheerful, rageful Russian dongs!

We've chewed on curses mixed with prayers.
We've long kenneled with lights off.
We drink in liters, sleep daylong,
We've even given up on songs.

We've ******* about growing filthy,
And so we've come to look alike.
In the rain, we sure will differ,
And most will turn out honest, kind.

Let papa Tsar-Bell be no more!
Our guitars will save the day,
Since big-beat, blues, and rock'n'roll
Ensnared us straight away.

Our chests buzz with electricity—
Hats to snow, let's go kick ***!
Rock'n'roll's a glorious heathenry...
God, I love
This time of jingle bells.