| Ah, the bell under the arc,
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| You are really tiny
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| But somewhere hidden in you
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| Big bell sadness
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| And ringing the soul of a man
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| You expressed all the ages
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| From bell to bell, Russia.
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| When the bells are ringing
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| The dew is especially light
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| And the cornflowers rise a little,
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| Like the blue eyes of the meadows.
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| Bless this call
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| Heroes of the fallen eternal sleep,
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| Blessed by children's laughter
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| And someone's first love.
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| When the bells are ringing
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| They call without remembering evil.
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| But, every bell inside,
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| He is hidden, but he has not forgotten
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| That they were rebels
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| That the kings flogged them with whips
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| And tearing out tongues
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| The guards took them to Siberia.
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| When the bells are ringing
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| Then the ashes wake up
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| Villages burned by the enemy
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| In that damned war
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| And hidden in every bell
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| Nabat, who sleeps lightly,
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| And in every Russian alarm is hidden,
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| And in every Russian alarm is hidden,
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| Let somewhere in the very depths.
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| When the bells are ringing
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| They have an endless distance,
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| And the copper birds fly
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| And through the fields and through the forests,
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| And you, subduing the trembling in your heart,
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| Close your eyes and swim
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| Through the roaring skies
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| Well, you don't know where. |