Master, raise a temple on my skin
With the Holy Cross and icons near it.
Tolling of the church bells, gentle and thin,
Should resound freely though the scenery.
Then tattoo a cabin by the creek,
Let it twist down freeside swiftly from afar
For the judges not to cook up any trick,
Not to keep it locked behind bolt and bar.
Fill my skin with sunset crimson sky,
Paint a rose entangled by the barbed wire.
‘Mother, there’s no guilt on me’, you’ll write.
They dare not remove it. Ever. So swore I.
If there would be left a little space,
Paint a small boat, all-at-taut, with outspread sails.
’Tis the breach, that you, screws, are to face.
You’ll remember me forever breaking jail.
Well, the inmost calm I did achieve.
Fervently I wish to hear my mother’s voice.
Man, tattoo the Cross for me to leave.
With a feeling of release, and still without remorse.
Это будет помощнее "Мурки" на латыни