After Me Comes The Flood

Therefore put on the full armor of God,
so that when the day of evil comes,
you may be able to stand your ground,
and after you have done everything,
to stand.
~ Ephesians 6:13

I must go on standing
You can't break that which isn't yours
I, oh, must go on standing
I'm not my own, it's not my choice

Be afraid of the lame
They'll inherit your legs
Be afraid of the old
They'll inherit your souls
Be afraid of the cold
They'll inherit your blood
Apres moi, le deluge
After me comes the flood

I must go on standing
You can't break that which isn't yours
I, oh, must go on standing
I'm not my own, it's not my choice

Февраль. Достать чернил и плакать!
Писать о феврале навзрыд,
Пока грохочущая слякоть
Весною чёрною горит.

Fevrale dostat chernil i plakat,
Pisat O Fevrale navsnryd,
Poka grohochushaya slyakot
Vesnoyu charnoyu gorit.

I must go on standing
You can't break that which isn't yours
I, oh, must go on standing
I'm not my own, it's not my choice

The Russian is from a poem by Boris Pasternak
English translation:

February.
Get ink, shed tears.
Write of it, sob your heart out, sing,
While torrential slush that roars
Burns in the blackness of the spring

Here's the full poem:

February. Get ink, shed tears.
Write of it, sob your heart out, sing,
While torrential slush that roars
Burns in the blackness of the spring.

Go hire a buggy. For six grivnas,
Race through the noise of bells and wheels
To where the ink and all you grieving
Are muffled when the rainshower falls.

To where, like pears burnt black as charcoal,
A myriad rooks, plucked from the trees,
Fall down into the puddles, hurl
Dry sadness deep into the eyes.

Below, the wet black earth shows through,
With sudden cries the wind is pitted,
The more haphazard, the more true
The poetry that sobs its heart out.

I'm not my own
it's not my choice