Ksey_Gan

Memories of a Russian Man Hangover

Oh, where I was yesterday - I couldn’t find,  if ever you kill me!

I only remember that walls were covered with wallpaper,

Remember Claudia was there and Angela with  knees,

Remember that I kissed them together.

And at the morning I got up -

They all started to tell me,

That  I scolded the  hostess too sharp,

I wanted to  intimidate eveone in a wink

As if I jumped  around

Completely   naked bare.

And my father, I boasted,

General with great star.

 

And then I tore my  shirt, beat  myself  on the chest,

I said that everyone crude had sold me out,

And they say that I didn’t let the guests catch a minute their breath -

I pestered them with inmates chords sounds.

And then me finished drinking,.no more,

Because  me was completely tired,

I began to smash the noble crystal on the floor,

Poured wine on the walls, admired.

And the coffee set, having  opened the window,

Managed anyway took and threw it out!

 

And no one could even say just a word to me then,

But then they suddenly slowly recovered.

They fell upon me in a crowd, began to tie my hands,

And in the end everyone had fun rather.

Some prank spat in my face,

And some poured vodka into my mouth,

And some jiggly dancer

Kicked painfully me in the stomach.

A young widow fiancéss,

Keeping fidelity to  her husband,

(After all, we only live once)

Took pity on me with no sound.

 

And I turned pale in the kitchen with a broken blood face,

I pretended been calm back down -

\"Untie me!\" I shouted, - \"and that\'s the end of such a race!”

They untied me, but hid the forks out.

That\'s when it all started, myself  as a swine.

You can not  describe it in plain words.

And where did I get so much strength in hands of  mine

I, like a wounded animal horde

Did some weird things for the last time,

Knocked out the windows and the door,

And dropped the balcony on the floor…

 

Oh, where was I yesterday — I can’t find it with a lantern,

I only remember that the walls were covered with wallpaper…

And the face remained, and the bruises on it. pattern

Well, where can I go now with the bruises eathere?

If it were there real true,

Well, perhaps, at least a third,

There is only thing left few:

Just lie down to mort.

It is  good p, that the widow

Could survive in a blithe:

She took pity on me own

And took me to live with.