| 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. |