As I lie, well done, under Saryn Mountain, And with frisky legs at the Usa River... They crushed my chest with a coffin lid, They chained their little hands in copper locks. Every dark midnight the snakes crawl They fall on my eyelids and suck until the day... And I don’t dare ask Mother Earth either - Drive away the little snakes and accept me. Only then, as of old, from Throne Moscow My Yasak will strike before the steppe Yaik - I will rise, elder, free or involuntary, And I, a seasoned Cossack, will walk on the waters.