The golden tops of churches above the river,
Ripe wild strawberries and fresh milk.
I run on the mowed grass, and high above me
A bright blue sky.
I'm still a boy of about five,
And my joy is singing, and my bliss soars.
Grandma's tales of love and bravery,
Where the good and truth watch over the pure world
Granddad's medals for Berlin and Prague,
And a festive spring salute.
I know, that we are all one folk,
And my joy is soars, and my bliss singing.
It is all my own, it's somewhere deep inside,
It is the most sacred, which remained inside of me.
It guards and heals us, like a dear goddess in the sky,
It is what can't be sold or taken away.
The indifferent time walking around,
Crossing off the addresses that are dear to my heart,
We will know what profit and calculation is, we will stop seeing the skies in each other's eyes.
And when it'll become hard for me,
I'll say it again for myself, despite all the years-
It is all my own, it's somewhere deep inside,
It is the most sacred, which remained inside of me.
It guards and heals us, like a dear goddess in the sky,
It is what can't be sold or taken away.