Rural ladies and gentlemen (BG)
Border Lord knocks to me on door,
Clinking by ice of his beard.
He drinks my port wine and laughs,
I would do so;
And then, as if the devil with a silver mouth,
He dictates the line by line,
And when to me it becomes terrible to write,
Says that a line is my;
He looks like me, like two drops of water,
Us they confuse, looking in the face.
Only if on me there is a ring,
And he without rings,
About me they say – well, neither that nor this,
But to someone I seem as a saint,
And he looks like the devil, although he is Lord;
But one end waits for us.
As there are two lands and they never
Have common borders,
And the one who learned a way
To someone he is obliged to be silent.
So that in the best books always no names,
And in the best pictures no faces,
In order that rural ladies and gentlemen
Continued their morning tea.
And she is who I consider my wife –
Give her, Lord, the best days,
For her he is more terrible than plague,
But such is our marriage.
But her sister behind the mirror glass
From him doesn't release the eyes.
And I know that if he was one,
Affair would be quite not so;
Ah, I know what would be, be he as me,
But I'm a man, I have a family,
And he – Lord, he looks through her,
And he looks through me;
As there are two lands and they never
Have common borders,
And the one who learned the way
Always is obliged to be silent.
So that in the best books always no names,
And in the best pictures no faces,
In order that rural ladies and gentlemen
Continued their morning tea.
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