When you'll be ready to give up,
And stick your sword into the ground,
Agree to "affres de la mort",
Agree to be with your head off - 
You will go down that sloppy road,
Where it's a pitch dark in the fog,
Will cleave your shoeless feet
With salty stones of grief.
Will swish your olden bosom
With die-shied of years misfortune.
The heart  - with punching ball -
Just drop, without spitting withal...
Into the very Abyss you'll subside,
Where from the match there is no light,
The Sun to vivify no lucky strike
At daybreak of the black and white.
Where there's no thoughts about the ransom
And where the Dream is under gravestone
And where the misereres of the weak
The deaf Almighty will not hear...

...Just know - alone, there I gave up,
And stuck my sword into the ground.
Than live like this - better be mortally tormented.
Than live like this - let the head be dismembered.