The falling is the constant mate of fear,
And feel of emptiness is the feel of fright.
Who throws us the stones from the height --
And stones here refuse the dust to bear?

Once ...  [+]

Let us praise the twilight of freedom, brothers,
the great year of twilight!
A thick forest of nets has been let down
into the seething waters of night.
O sun, judge, people, desolate ...  [+]

The clock-cricket singing,
that's the fever rustling.
The dry stove hissing,
that's the fire in red silk.

The teeth of mice milling
the thin supports of life,
that's the swallow ...  [+]

Our lives no longer feel ground under them.
At ten paces you can't hear our words.

But whenever there's a snatch of talk
it turns to the Kremlin mountaineer,

the ten thick worms ...  [+]