The sun will shine like a soldier's badge,
someone lets out a scream of fear.
Rocks and sand will become an ashen spirit,
a coffin lowered down...
a tight gown...
Burial, burial.
A choir of crows scream.
Burial, burial.
A choir of crows scream.
A crazy hobo, a wonderer among the graves,
will say: "well then, death's always the desert,
like Ivan, Susanin, also stashed away,
yeah, here, the trains run on schedule."
Burial, burial.
A choir of crows scream.
Burial, burial.
A choir of crows scream.
A diseased dog will come,
for the final supper,
puss in his eyes,
ponds on the asphalt.
And the sun will set,
then will come dawn,
down the MKAD* goes a wedding party...
bitterly!
Burial, burial.
A choir of crows scream.
Burial, burial.
A choir of crows scream.