The moon is the tongue
In the bell of the sky.
The homeland's my mother,
А Bolshevik am I.
Hail the universal
Brotherhood of man!
That's why with my verse
For your death I give thanks.
Strong, tough and healthy,
To hasten your doom
The blue bell of heaven
I strike with the moon.
Countrymen, brothel's,
My song is for you.
Through the mist I can hear it,
The wonderful news.
2
Небо — как колокол,
Месяц — язык,
Мать моя — родина,
Я — большевик.
Ради вселенского
Братства людей
Радуюся песней я
Смерти твоей.
Крепкий и сильный,
На гибель твою
В колокол синий
Я месяцем бью.
Братья-миряне,
Вам моя песнь.
Слышу в тумане я
Светлую весть.
«Open, Open, / The gates of the tsar! / Darkness dimmed and poured out far. / With clean heat / Burns the altar — / Resurrect, Christ, / Yesterday's tsar! Without glory fell / Two-headed eagle. / Tsar — you were wrong. He'll remember inheritance / Many more times — ...»
«Let us now praise freedom's twilight, / The glorious twilit year! / Into the midnight boiling waters / A massive forest of snares is lowered. / You rise above obscure years, — / O sun, O judge, my people. Let us praise the fateful burden / The people's leader takes up tearfully. — /...»
«Brethren, let’s praise the dusk of freedom / With its great year of twilit gloom, / Its hefty grove of dangling snares / Cast into the night’s jet-black waters! / From under a deaf age’s yoke / You rise, O sun! O judge! O folk! And let us praise the fatal burden / Taken up in tear...»
«Whoever kisses time’s ancient nodding head / will remember later, like a loving son, / how the old man lay down to sleep / in the drift of wheat outside the window. / He who has opened the eyes of the age, / two large sleepy apples with inflamed lids, / hears forever after the roar of ...»