They drink and fight and weep

Once more they drink and fight and weep To accordion's yellow sorrow's strain They curse the fates they're forced to reap And dream of Moscow's Rus again And I, with drooping head cast down Flood my eyes with crimson wine To blind me to fate's dreadful frown To think, for once, of things divine Something lost to all forever Blue May! My June of azure light! No wonder death's stench lingers ever Above this damned and wasted night Oh, how the Russians revel now As moonshine flows—a swelling stream The accordionist with sunken brow Sings Volga, Cheka in his theme Something fierce in wild-eyed glances Defiance in each shouted phrase They mourn those fools who took their chances And lost their lives in youthful days Where are you who wandered far? Do our beams still light your way? The player treats with spirits raw The syphilis from steppes astray No! These souls won't yield or falter Their reckless fire from ruin springs You, my Russia Rus at the altar Land where Asia's spirit sings!