The prodigal son after Boris Slutski

Exhausted by need, exhausted by work ease,

The prodigal son returns to his father's house.

And knocks on the window cautiously: "May I?"

My only son, courageously may it.

Everything is possible, kiss your father if you want,

Gnaw the  fattened calf the fragrant bones.

How nice that you have at last  returned,

You should have stayed, my son, and humbled.

The son wipes his  greasy lip with his thick beard,

Eats the calf, washes it down with water tepid,

Even a drop of sweat shines on his forehead

From such backbreaking work bored.

Here he has eaten as he could and has gone into the bedroom,

Sleeps free on a clean bed, he feels absolutely  good…

He  gets up, and finds his walking stick one,

And leaves without saying goodbye to anyone.