How I will end, when I have sung my fill,
I can not say, nor will I even try.
There is one things, though that I know full well:
I want to live and I will hate to die.
I'm on a chain, the still chain of esteem,
The links of fame are too strong for my teeth.
Who's there? Who's rapping on a hasp of steel
In oaken gates - a herald of more grief?
No answer - but I know who's standing there.
A watchdog they would simply kick aside.
Above the fence, I see up in the air
Familiar outlines of a sharpened scythe.
I will twist my neck out of the silver collar
Or I will bite through the gold-encrusted chain,
I will clear the fence, fall on a thorn and holder,
Rip up my sides, and fly through wind and rain!
by Vladimir Vysotsky.