I shall not try to fool myself:
Care's roosted in my misty heart.
Why am I now a charlatan?
Why am I now a hooligan?
I'm not a crook - I don't steal wood,
Or shoot unhappy prisoners.
I'm only a street Arab, one
Who smiles at everyone he meets.
Naughty Moscow boulevardier!
Every back-street mongrel
Round Tvyersky Street knows well
The sound of my light step.
And every drayhorse shakes its head
When I go by. For I'm a friend
To animals and every line
I write cures the bestial soul.
My top-hat's not for women -
My heart can't live in stupid lust.
It's handier, my sadness quenched,
For ladling oats to hungry mares.
Amongst men I have no true friend,
Acknowledging another realm.
I'm ready to take off my finest tie
To hang about a horse's neck.
Already now I cease to ache.
The horror in my misty heart has cleared.
This is why I'm a charlatan.
This is why I'm a hooligan.