Осенняя [Osennyaya] [English translation]

The heavens on the horse, on the autumn parade

Knead the dough of those, who were presented to the award,

And they're lying 'bout war on TV...

I live on the scales in this quality of year

My song, naturally, is of rainy kind

My song is not singed

And not dressed.

My song is an answer to Anna's and Lisa's letters

The splashes of wind hang on the drenched eaves

The Spring's gathered them with her lips

And it has disappeared.

With a trouble on my shoulders I will crawl to the road

To die is a trivia, if you drink a little

But prevents to escape from yourself

Our Ego.

Where the danger and nonsense, there are living graves

They raise us on the forks for the fidelity and bread

This autumn we pay for light

We dance on bends, the turns over the centuries

And no one finds his end, even those who are not with us

The song of ours is on the clouds.

And nothing, nothing has happened so far

Yesterday I still remembered that life came to me in dream

It has become this autumn

And if there are only the troubles around

And if it's too thin around

Love us, God, quietly

Love us, God, loudly

Sometimes our life is overgrown with flowers

That means, my friend, that He's passed between us

But it's hard to see Him...