Путь [Put'] [English translation]

Tell me, my friend, why are we so careless?

In the stream of days and bustle of the things to do,

We don't remember that our life will not last forever,

And all the paths have their limits.

I don't believe in miracles, and it would be strange

To fly all the lifetime, having taken off once.

Still, we always say goodbye unexpectedly,

without having told the most important words.

We don't slow down a pace and don't count days,

Amid the storms and troubles we become stronger,

But hear that the clock strikes,

At that very moment when without a doubt

No one is waiting for his last bell.

But there's no end of the path, and the road is so clear

Where a day will be born again and songs will be sung.

And the one who followed me, let he speed up pace a little,

To do successfully all the things that I won't have done.