Fall, and ukroyus leaves in a white birch grove ,
The spirit of their native land deeply, hmeleya , breathe -
Run through the breeze , and kolnёt heart, like a splinter -
I returned home to my childhood , in their silence
I'm back - meet me , sweet, kind Motherland
I'm not a hero, a son of his Russian land :
Breathe you, a good look , get drunk to drunk -
Smoke, shut up and listen to the cry rains
Vspolyhnut heaven , and I naveyut thoughts from the past
Suddenly, his eyes shine , and a barely audible cry soul :
There were a lot of things , and the bad - but more good
Found - did not appreciate , and lost - so lost forever
Burns in the night, my fire, my loneliness ,
The day begins , and the cuckoo considers the year -
And again, I hear a voice from heaven , like a prophecy ,
I have to go to get back here !
