A SONG BY BULAT OKUDXHAWA

A song by Bulat Okudzhawa

Mozart is playing on an old violin

Mozart is playing, and the violin is singing.

Mozart doesn't choose  a Fatherland,

He just plays his whole life through.

Ah, its OK that always, as we know,

Our fate is, sometimes - a feast

And, sometimes - a shoot out.

Don't forget the hope, maestro,

Don't take that hand off your brow!

Short are our young years:

One moment, and they will dissipate, 

Like in the fire:

The red coat, the golden shoes,

The white wig and the lace cuffs.

Ah, its OK that always, as we know,

Our fate is, sometimes - a feast

And, sometimes - a shoot out.

Don't forget the hope, maestro,

Don't take that hand off your brow!

Somewhere, at the last stop,

We'll say: "thanks!" even to this fate, 

But let's not make idols out of 

Our nations' transgressions.

Ah, its OK that always, as we know,

Our fate is, sometimes - a feast

And, sometimes - a shoot out.

Don't pay any attention, maestro,

Don't take your hand off your brow!