Saint George killed the dragon He wiped a sword into his satin cloak. Black adorns it with posoka: Dragon death - a knightly thing. With a reptilian wing chopped off, the husband drives away from flies; Proof of triumph in the bag he put: A set of fresh dragon fangs. St. George! St. George! The dragon toothless mouth sincere, Although he no longer dreams of anything - To kill the reptile fate tells you, That you go to the altars, But this is not the end of The song! The meritorious Dragonslayer was fed with fame by grateful people and admired the bloody bag, from which the dragon stench wandered. The knight was sweating in purple Among the crowned heads And there was no troubadour, What would not sing these words: Saint George! St. George! The reptilian abdomen in the dust lies, For vermin prey and mold. To slay the dragon, fate told you to be on the altars, But this is not the end of the song! Everywhere he set his foot, Everywhere he brought a reptilian smell. He covered the world with his holy trail Until he greyed, lost weight and wilted. And from the ripped pannier he shed Step by step a tusk behind a fang, And the dragonspawn grew back From the triumph of good, mocking evil. St. George! St. George! A holy dream is yours, You are tormented by your contemporaries! Because it's easier to do dragon than to fight with life, But that's not the end of the song! A knight died, and in the Church a few years were discussed, How to divide his skeleton, Because the relics are demanded by the world. Dragons are swarming, but saints are never enough! Fairly! - someone will suggest: Myth for myth! And bone for bone! St. George! St. George! Bookkeepers count the bones How much faith can fit in them - An unwritten dream to your remains , You must start from the beginning And there will be no end to the song....
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