In the quiet valley where rocks do not stand in the way of the windstorm In such places that no one got there or will get again There joyfully lived a happy mountain echo It answered the cry of mankind - yes it answered the cry of the man. When loneliness comes up to throat as if with a stone And moan once suppressed falls into the crevasse in the land The echo would take up this cry that comes out of the throat Augment manifold and then gently lift up in its hand. Perhaps it was people, made drunk on a horrible potion In order that no one would hear their stomping and shouts Came over to kill, to make soundless the mountain valley And they tied the echo and they placed a gag in its mouth. All night they continued the bloody and cruel amusement And nobody heard but a sound as on it people walked In morning they shot in the face the quiescent mountain echo And stones just like teardrops burst from the wounded rock. By Vladimir Vysotsky Translated from Russian by Ilya Shambat
