Охота на волков [Okhota na volkov] [English translation]

With all the strength that bursts from our sinews –

It's the same old story again.

When you see them, there’s something within you

Makes you cluster like sheep to a pen.

From the forest the guns start to rumble,

From bushes, where hunters lie low.

Claws scratch ice as wolves rush and tumble

Living targets with nowhere to go.

Who'll come a’ hunting for the wolf, who'll come a’ hunting?


Who'll shoot and be a man, some cub or suckling dam?


As the beaters wave, the slavering hounds confront ‘em


Blood on the snow and rows of fluttering scarlet flags.

They fixed the match, their servile lieutenants:

So superior, so sure of our route.

Bounds on liberty set with red pennants,

With their rifles held steady to shoot!

For the wolf cannot break with tradition:

When as cubs in our lair we’d entwine,

With our milk we conceived the ambition

Not ever to cross the red line.

Who'll come a’ hunting for the wolf, who'll come a’ hunting?


Who'll shoot and be a man, some cub or suckling dam?


As the beaters wave, the slavering hounds confront ‘em


Blood on the snow and rows of fluttering scarlet flags.

Are our jaws and our paws so extraneous?

Our leader – so fixed in his mind!

To permit these red flags to contain us

Why don’t we break out of this bind?

Wolves must not step over the border

Thus my life blood must ebb in the snow

And the one for whom I’m an order

Lifts his rifle, his face all aglow.

Who'll come a’ hunting for the wolf, who'll come a’ hunting?


Who'll shoot and be a man, some cub or suckling dam?


As the beaters wave, the slavering hounds confront ‘em


Blood on the snow and rows of fluttering scarlet flags.

I transgressed, stepped over the boundary

For my life is worth more than their lies!

Behind me, no longer around me,

Come shouts of frustrated surprise.

All the strength has burst from my sinews –

But that old story changes today:

I’m alone, my wolf nature continues

But my hunters were robbed of their prey!

Who'll come a’ hunting for the wolf, who'll come a’ hunting?


Who'll shoot and be a man, some cub or suckling dam?


As the beaters wave, the slavering hounds confront ‘em


Blood on the snow and rows of fluttering scarlet flags.

© Thomas Beavitt 2011