Painters, dip your brushes
In the bustle of Moscow yards and in the dawn.
That your brushes would be like leaves,
Like leaves, like leaves in November.
Dip your brush into the blue,
By the forgotten city's tradition .
Draw diligently and with love,
Such love with we are walking down Tverskaya street.
Let the pavement will rock as a come round.
Let it will began what it has not begun yet .
You draw, you draw, you will be reckoned.
Why we need guess, have we succeeded or not?
You, as a judges, draw our destiny,
Our winter, our summer and spring.
Nothing that we are strangers, you draw,
I will explain later that it is unclear.