Personally for Redroad: Ok, If you like it... Vladimir Vysotsky: (not so good video, but there is good audio quality) Wolf hunt (he sings as though if he was a wolf) In my flight, sinews bursting, I hurtle, But as yesterday - so now today, They've cornered me! Driven me, encircled, Towards the huntsmen that wait for their prey! From the fir-trees the rifle-shots quicken - In the shadows the huntsmen lie low. As they fire, the wives somersault, stricken, Living targets brought down on the snow. They're hunting wolves! The hunt is on, pursuing The wily predators, the she-wolf and her brood. The beaters shout, the dogs bay, almost spewing. The flags on the snow are red, as red as the blood. In the fight heavy odds have opposed us, But the merciless huntsmen keep ranks. With the flags on their ropes they've enclosed us. They take aim and they fire at point blank. For a wolf cannot break with tradition. With milk sucked from the she-wolfs dugs The blind cubs learn the stern prohibition Never, never to cross the red flags! They're hunting wolves! The hunt is on, pursuing The wily predators, the she-wolf and her brood. The beaters shout, the dogs bay, almost spewing. The flags on the snow are red, as red as the blood. We are swift and our jaws are rapacious. Why then, chief, like a tribe that's oppressed, Must we rush towards the weapons that face us And that precept be never transgressed? For a wolf cannot change the old story The end looms and my time's, almost done. Now the huntsman who's made me his quarry Gives a smile as he raises his gun. They're hunting wolves! The hunt is on, pursuing The wily predators, the she-wolf and her brood. The beaters shout, the dogs bay, almost spewing. The flags on the snow are red, as red as the blood. But revolt and the life-force are stronger Than the fear that the red flags instil From behind come dismayed cries of anger As I cheat them, with joy, of their kill. In my flight, sinews bursting I hurtle, But the outcome is different today! I was cornered! They trapped me encircled! But the huntsmen were foiled of their prey! They're hunting wolves! The hunt is on, pursuing The wily predators, the she-wolf and her brood. The beaters shout, the dogs bay, almost spewing. The flags on the snow are red, as red as the blood. __________________________________________________ I like this melody.. Singer in front of a microphone: I'm in the light, open to every eye - I do as I do often; like an icon I come up to a microphone; today It's more like I'm approaching a cannon. And I will not rub against the microphone Yes, my voice is loathsome to any Yes, I know, if a lie comes on It will augment it surely without pity. Rays beneath the lamp on ribs do beat me Lamps shimmer into the face unkindly And projectors blind from every side And the heat! The heat! Is blind! Today I rant again without control, But in the tone I don't risk making change - For if I make a turn inside the soul It will correct the curve with rage. The beast, than a blade it is more thin - The flawless hearing, it hears lies till the iota - It does not care that in beat I don't fit in But that I more completely sing the notes! Rays beneath the lamp on ribs do beat me Lamps shimmer into the face unkindly And projectors blind from every side And the heat! The heat! Is blind! Upon the supple neck this microphone Is rolling with its snake head; If I get silent - it will sting I have to sing - till stupor, till the end. Don't move, don't touch, don't dare! I saw the sting - you are a snake, I know! And I am like a charmer of a snake I do not sing, I'm putting spell upon a cobra! Rays beneath the lamp on ribs do beat me Lamps shimmer into the face unkindly And projectors blind from every side And the heat! The heat! Is blind! It wants to eat, and with a birdling's greed It takes the sounds out of the mouth, In forehead it will put nine grams of lead I won't raise the hands - the guitar binds them! Again it will not reach the end! What is this microphone - who will respond! Today it is like lamp against the face, But I'm not holy, and there's no light from the microphone. My melodies are simpler than the scales But barely beating from a sure tone - I am sickly beaten on the face By an immobile shade of microphone Rays beneath the lamp on ribs do beat me Lamps shimmer into the face unkindly And projectors blind from every side And the heat! The heat! Is blind! ___ * Russian say he was a genius and at the same time, he was a very simple man, and for it they love him..