Don't torment me with coldness and stiffness
And don't ask me my age and so on.
I have serious falling sickness
With my soul like a yellow bone.
Years ago I wasn't the same as
I am now. I was dreamy and all
I imagined that I would be famous
Very wealthy and favoured by all.
I'm excessively rich. I declare!
There's my hat which I never use.
All I have is a shirt and a pair
Of worn out once elegant shoes.
I am famous as well. They know me
From Moscow to Paris scum.
And my name will arouse a stormy
Response, like a curse and damn.
As for love, don't you think it's amusing?
As I kiss you, your lips are like dead.
I've got love which I seem to be losing
Whereas yours hasn't bloomed as yet.
I'm gloomy at times - I don't care,
For it isn't yet time to be sad.
The young grass on the hills, like your hair,
Rustling, looks like a golden pad.
I would like to be there in that vastness
So I might, to the rustle of grass,
Fall asleep and drown in darkness
And daydream like I did in the past.
But the things I now dream about
Are quite new to the earth and the grass
For they can't be expressed and spelled out,
And they cannot be named, alas!