"Song about Childhood" (Igor Rasteryayev)
[Minsk]
[Voskhod]
[Planeta 5]
Our hands have not gotten used to
adding Likes to Internet sites.
We, on Soviet motorcycles,
in our rather grimy sweatshirts,
speed along a road at nighttime,
amid fields of rye and buckwheat,
to the place where flickers, lonesome,
our bonfire by the clean river.
Our bonfire by the clean river.
We will add wood to the bonfire,
in its coals bake some potatoes,
and a chub'll splash in the river,
and out will come an accordion.
From the heart it will start playing,
till the dawn, with zeal unbounded,
to us - foremost hooligans,
and the last Young Pioneers.
We have recently turned fifteen,
while our country's only just four.
They demolished all the ideals,
but forgot to say who is right.
We trust our fire and its taters:
it, at least, is not a traitor,
it is good without a question,
it's our shared denominator!
It's our shared denominator!
Later, each will pickle himself:
his cast, mind and disposition.
We will ride our separate ways,
listening to the harsh engines.
Life will be filled with disasters,
you won't know where to escape to,
but to the fire of your childhood
come back more often - to warm up.
Come back more often - to warm up...