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.