Оригинален текст
Jenkins/Stevenson/Silverman
Not exactly taciturn, he shared his bottle openly
Battered, banished, ill-remembered
Terrified of something seen
We grew to reek of martyrdom
And (our) mutual misanthropy
Certain pleasures taken from him
Never meant to want to be
Emptier known as a number
Lack of luck would not explain
His traveling for safety's sanction
"Standing on his head an always
Landing on his feet"
Casting blame and laughing
In facetious conversation
Certain pleasures in return he
Never meant to want to be
Emptier known an a number
They found him cold this morning
They found him cold at dawn