We were in the white hell of Kolyma,
being marched back to the zone in freezing cold,
when I saw a cigarette butt with red lipstick on it
and broke out of formation to pick it up.

Stop, or I’ll shoot! yelled one of the guards.
His fierce dog leaped and tore my prison coat.
Dear guards, I said, no need to worry.
I’m already back in line, as you can see.

I haven’t seen a woman in four years.
But right now, I finally got lucky.
Oh, little cigarette butt, maybe from a high-flying Tupolev,
a special wind must’ve blown you here to me.

Kapalin, who strangled his wife,
and another guy, a famous pederast,
groaned and sighed all the way back to the zone
and never took their eyes off that cigarette butt.
Bitch! I thought. Who are you flirting with now?
Who are you sharing your fancy cigarettes with now?
Even totally drunk, you’d never buy a ticket at Vnukovo
to at least fly over where I am.

I partied hard in your honor,
boozing on French cognac,
getting dizzy just from watching you smoking
that Troika with its trade-mark gold tip.

I lost that cigarette butt in a card game.
It was worth more to me than a thousand rubles.
But here I don’t have any luck at all
because of my longing for the Queen of Hearts.

I lost the clothes on my back, my change of clothes as well,
and my sugar ration for the next two years.
I sit on my bunk, bare-assed, hugging my knees,
with nothing to wear for morning roll-call.

I was punished for that cigarette butt,
but I don’t curse or blame anyone.
Certain important fellow prisoners
respected me for my generosity.

I walked to the punishment cell barefoot,
calm and quiet, like Christ.
For ten days and nights I painted
the stubs of my roll-ups with bloody lips.

Bastard! You blew thousands on gorgeous ladies
when you were free!
That’s true, citizen guard,
but it’s pointless, citizen guard,
smashing me in the mouth.

It’s pointless, citizen guard,
smashing me in the mouth.