On the Saltire cross (translated [bad word] poem Андрей Первозванный by Борис Петров)

Aye a fisherman, You called me first
To a love forever unrequited.
Not a drop to drink or slake this terrible thirst
And casual strangers are not invited
To this place where agonies are sewed
Into the buds of wings upon your back
And a merciless adversary wields a goad
Sprinkling salt ire into every open crack.

I will be with you.
I will be with you, star-crossed destiny.

Twelve men, called to do or die
Plus You, we made a baker’s dozen
(I always tended to over-simplify
Especially when talking to my cousin.)
I could see that You wanted to be all things to all men.
But frankly some of it just went over my head
My way was more whatever it took to 
Give to us this day our daily bread.

If I'm to be with you.
If I'm to be with you, star-crossed destiny.

 All causes of unnatural disasters
Are to be found within ourselves:
Sometimes we look so longingly at the backs of departing masters
We forget to dust our own dirty, little shelves.
But once whoever is without blemish has thrown
With such a heavy, heavy heart
His heavy, heavy stone
On the Saltire cross, there he’ll remain – forever set apart.

I am always with you
I am always with you, star-crossed destiny.