In the seventh lane by the seventh granary
A rose bush shone like a candle
But someone cut the rose hips there in the morning
They will not bloom anymore, believe it or not
About the rose hips river sings softly
Horses carry the song in their manes to the distance
About the rose hips that I miss
Even the wind in the birches sang and played that song
In the seventh lane by the seventh granary
A rose bush shone like a candle
But someone cut the rose hips there in the morning
They will not bloom anymore, believe it or not