Clouds gently drift through the sky,
Drift unhurriedly, taking their time.
I'm eating a Chicken Francaise,
And I've drunk half a bottle of wine.

The clouds drift towards Abakan,
The clouds are not in a rush.
The clouds must be warm near the sun,
While I will be cold for an age.

I will stand frozen into that trail
That I scratched in the ice with a pick.
After all, I spent twenty years,
Twenty years of my life in the camps.

I still see the crust on the snow,
I still hear the cries of the guards,
So pass me a slice of that cake,
And pour cognac into my glass.

Clouds gently drift through the sky,
Drift to far-away Kolyma,
And the clouds don't want any rights,
And amnesty's nothing to them.

But I cannot complain myself,
Twenty years of my life tossed away,
I sit in a bar like a lord,
And I even have teeth of my own.

And to this very day, just like me,
Half the country sits in the camps,
And when they look up, they can see
Clouds gently drift through the sky.