| When my time comes
|
| I stand before the Lord
|
| The mountain will meet with the mountain,
|
| How dare I guess.
|
| Angels surround me
|
| And their wings are white-white,
|
| And in their white handbags
|
| Everyone has a handful of ash.
|
| "And we have been waiting for you for a long time,
|
| know it's time to meet."
|
| The Lord has a sly look,
|
| The Lord will furrow his wise forehead.
|
| To the heavenly retinue, turning,
|
| He will say: “We must decide
|
| is there a place in heaven for him
|
| or in hell with Satan."
|
| And every angel will fit
|
| And their wings are white-white,
|
| And on the plate of scales
|
| Ashes will pour out in a handful.
|
| And in that ashes is my whole life:
|
| And what he knew and what he forgot.
|
| How terrible this moment will be
|
| How gently the rustle of wings.
|
| And the Lord's voice will tremble,
|
| When hell outweighs a little,
|
| Indeed, in his sins
|
| I myself am a little to blame.
|
| “And he went to a high goal,
|
| and I liked it for it,
|
| for this, - he will say - I am ready
|
| reward him doubly.
|
| Light scales swing
|
| From that grain of gold.
|
| Freeze, exactly not alone
|
| Didn't outweigh the other.
|
| And the Lord will smile here:
|
| “My son, well, what can I say?
|
| Now you can yourself
|
| Execution and reward to choose.”
|
| And I will say to him: "Lord,
|
| At least go around the whole wide world,
|
| Rewards are better not to find
|
| And there is no more cunning execution:
|
| Let me repeat my path
|
| And there - the end of the song.
|
| Mother rewarded me
|
| My father ordered me."
|
| When my time comes
|
| I stand before the Lord
|
| The mountain will meet with the mountain,
|
| How dare I guess.
|
| Angels surround me
|
| And their wings are white-white,
|
| And in their white handbags
|
| Everyone has a handful of ash. |