Along the gap by the cliff, where the edge is very narrow

With a whip I lash my horses, strike harder, urge them on

No air for me to breathe; I smoke the wind, the mist I swallow

I can feel amid a tragic ecstasy that I am dying, I am done for!
 

Slow it down, horses, calm your eagerness!

Do not listen to that old tight thong!

But the horses I have got are fastidious

I had no time to live fully or finish the song…
 

I will let them drink, while the last verse I speak

Just a bit longer I may verge on the brink…
 

Like a snow flake, a blizzard will then sweep my soul off the palm

And horses will pull my sleigh at full speed in the morn

Unwind your gallop, oh my horses, make it peaceful and calm

And extend, somehow, my journey to its last and final home
 

Slow it down, horses, calm your eagerness!

Do not listen to that old tight thong!

But the horses I have got are fastidious

I had no time to live fully or finish the song…
 

I will let them drink, while the last verse I speak

Just a bit longer I may verge on the brink…
 

We came on time; no one is ever late for the God’s presence

Why do angels sing with their loud, angry voices?

Perhaps it is the bluebell grown numb from crying tears

Or is it me on the sleigh screaming “I beg you, pace down!” to my mad horses?
 

Slow it down, horses, calm your eagerness!

Do not listen to that old tight thong!

But the horses I have got are fastidious

I had no time to live fully or finish the song…
 

I will let them drink, while the last verse I speak

Just a bit longer I may verge on the brink…
 

Baryshnikov, White Nights.

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