It might be God or just whatever, but this night smells of incense
The tall wood all around, mosses on the knoll
Perhaps this is a blessing or an ambush on our sense
A good feeling to the touch, but such a chill through the soul.
There they go with their icons, with their icons so unknown
Their path is lit by holy light from the water so deep
I don't remember how we got up, how we walked out of the room
I just remember how warm a star it is that we seek.
Look at that Cathedral with its darkness under dome
All eyes have searched there and all have seen but naught
I would like to place a candle
But they're sold right out of candles
I'd light some liquor in my hand, but where can it be got?
And the snows lie all around on all four sides of us
Barefoot through the snow: no problem if your soul is pure
We would have disappeared for good
But for the wolves and the ravens
They asked us where we're going, to that star so warm for sure?
Gilded all the crosses and stuck them in wherever
The one cross truly given was traded for some wine
And hungover in the morning, went for water to the river
And there instead of water it's the Mongol Post we find.
We had wanted to give a sign so joyous to the angels
But lost them from our sight erasing tracks of where we were
Everyone would go out now and follow their signals
If it were not for the light of that star so pure.
What can we do now, how to sing if not for the hand so pure
And if we do not sing we will burn up all alone
But if I sing only a part the Orliki will come for me
Along the murky water with their eyes as white as a stone.
Let them come all the same, I'm such a black bird myself
There's nowhere left to run, a meter – then the ice for sure
I'll cover you, you'll cover me, oh wolves and ravens
So that somebody at least will make it to that star so pure.
So what do we care now if there's darkness under dome
So what do we care now if we cannot see but naught
And what do we care now if they're sold right out of candles
Because if there is no fire, we know where it can be sought.
And maybe it is true that there's no path hut this travelled one
There may be no hands for miracles, but those so clean and sure
Yet all the same we warmed only by the wolves and ravens
And they blessed us all the way to that star so pure.