Visotskiy - I am not fond of

I am not fond of fatal outcome,
I am never tired of my life.
I am not fond of any season,
When songs I sing don’t sound in chime.
I do not like cynicism that’s freezing,
I don’t believe in joy, moreover, –
I am not fond of someone reading,
My letters from behind my shoulder.
I’m not so fond of things by half,
Or conversations that they break.
Shots in the back I do not love,
And I am against the point-blank.
I hate the gossip as a pattern,
The worms of doubt, the blades of fame,
Against the grain, the never-flatter,
Or when the glass is scratched with nail.
I hate the confidence that’s fat, –
I would prefer malfunctioned breaks.
Forsaken honour feels so bad
And likewise tittle-tattle praised.
And as I see the wings that break –
I find no pity and foremost:
I hate the weekness and the rape, –
I’m sorry for God nailed to cross.
I hate when I am not brave at all,
And when the innocent are beaten.
I hate when someone hacks my soul,
And, let alone, when he is spitting.
I hate arenas, rings and stages:
I know they bargain gold for penny.
I know ahead are major changes –
With this I’ll never live on tally.