Yellow house.-house of mourning. 

The crowd looked at each other, looked at me,
Tied up my hands chained to a radiator.
The doctor only said: “His head is full of fire”
We were taken to a house and tightly bound.

And living in this house all my friends.
These friends are always around the head.
But is all this a secret:
These people are very similar to me.

And the house that covers only the moon,
There is one window, and always worth the candle.
This room with a grate, as all around, dark,
And the only dancing light candles on the wrinkles of the executioner.

And living in this house are the same as I
But one man is killed at dawn.
And I notice every day,

With my family I do not know.

And every day my eyes do not see dreams,
I wake up at night, I fear, will be blood.
And soon happen to me,
And hide all the fear and deathly silence.

And again, there I am, where my friends –
Among the graves, crosses, coffins and boards.
Here me now, I’m afraid that you,
In the crowd, exchange glances, and not look …