Что-то не то творим —
В схеме, видать, изъян.
Строили Третий Рим —
Вышел второй Пхеньян.
Дружно смыкали ряд.
Высились в полный рост.
Двигались на парад —
Прибыли на погост.
Морщим теперь чело.
Думаем: не судьба…
А Гавриил чего?
Дело его – труба.
* * *
Is it in our genome
That something always goes wrong?
We were building the Third Rome –
We built a Second Pyongyang.
We moved forward and never strayed,
We were proudly standing guard.
We were marching to a parade
But ended up at a graveyard.
We’re scratching our heads – oh well,
That’s the fate into which we were born…
And what about Gabriel?
He’s gonna blow his horn.