Chorus:
Unhappy, unguilty,
unordinary, untalkative...
You keep silent again, being patient.
Come on, my unhappy one.
Day after day, with no shame at all,
they lead you, defenseless, to slaughter,
accompanied with the rolling peal of church bells,
as if holding a funeral service for you in advance.
Your generous hands are roughly pecked
by the greedy kites.
Hopelessness and indifference
are thrown to your feet, as if handouts!
Chorus:
Unhappy, unguilty,
unordinary, untalkative...
You keep silent again, being patient.
Come on, my unhappy one.
Your children have grown up to become troublesome.
They have quietly squandered what was left not burned out by them. Piece by pieces, greedily, by handfuls,
they keep grabbing and tearing their mother's heart.
Your open wounds are burning in the wind,
being sewn with white thread.
Your home is turned inside out,
but you are humbly silent, while being tortured.
Chorus:
Unhappy, unguilty,
unordinary, untalkative...
You keep silent again, being patient.
Come on, my unhappy one.
* * *
The pangs of death and birth -
you've seen it all in your life.
You got burned with your ever-forgiveness,
got overflowed with it from bottom to the very top.
You will brush your brownish greying hair off your face!
Emboldened, you will cry out of helplessness,
being serenely faithful up to the end,
Russia!