520 [English translation]

We are made to burn by throwing fires of words

Into the one-third broken construction of our heads.

From dirt of our desires into the world bloom flowers

Of disappointment, flashing their empty buds.

The future of children pushes our backs like a bayonet,

And we build homes for them from bones, turning blood into clay.

We are being told "You owe your lives to the Motherland!",

But we are more than just complicated... probably...

We will outlive ourselves, compost in the memories of each other.

We will burn names on the Crimea's south winds.

Get over the tolerant childhood and will learn,

That black is never a direct opposite of white.

Words of gratitude to every brave heart,

That will grow - and will be able to love

And I know, hearts like that won't be deceived!

And maybe, the droplets of love will fall down like a summer rain;

And all that burned into ashes, will rise again.

By fire inside ourselves, our eyes are blind with tears.

Red stalks rise up, trying to reach the hatred of flame.

Suns of our hearts slowly die out like sparks in the ash.

Every one of us is already dead, and red stalks rise and rise up.

Every day getting busy with the needs of others.

Every time, making something beautiful, we are moving

Towards the heaven through the waters of hate.

Not every one of us can reach the shore.

No every one of us can swim there

Through the storms of their fates,

But all can happen...

By fire inside ourselves, our eyes are blind with tears.

Red stalks rise up, trying to reach the hatred of flame.

Suns of our hearts slowly die out like sparks in the ash.

Every one of us is already dead, and red stalks rise and rise up.