| The night shrouded the village in darkness,
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| Hepatitis moon came out
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| The barking subsided, and the mooing of heifers, -
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| There will be silence here until morning.
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| Everyone sits in their huts until dawn -
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| And milkmaids, and children, and chronicles.
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| Everyone is afraid, because they know that somewhere
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| The accordion wanders alone.
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| And the accordion always wanders drunk,
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| Terrible howling scares people.
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| It leads to tantrums, heart attacks,
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| Does not spare old people and children.
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| And the accordion bites everyone's asses,
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| Tearing out intestines with fangs,
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| He wanders through the forest thickets and paths,
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| And sobs and cries out of anguish.
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| After all, this harmonica has life
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| And the other once was:
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| Harmonist Alexander Stoletov
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| He dealt with such things with her -
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| They performed in rural clubs,
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| Cheerful harmonist girlfriends.
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| Well, after the accordion was written off,
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| I don't give a damn about the abundance of merit.
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| Offended by this idea
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| It became a fierce harmonica and angry.
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| Bit through Stoletov's neck,
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| People have become accordion food.
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| And since then, there is only a village
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| On a dark night, illuminate the moon -
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| All the villagers rush nervously
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| To your huts - because you want to live
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| Silence, only cicadas chirp,
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| And the moon above the earth is an oval.
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| Everyone hid, knowing that next
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| Looking for a victim accordion-cannibal! |