| Over the forest, field church bells
|
| They are all over Sunday
|
| In his black was a priest and a family
|
| But I guess someone was missing from that grave
|
| The older brother went hard
|
| And I didn't have to escort it
|
| Dad had given the house to another
|
| The only one left was a hard ground
|
| Cold and hard ground
|
| My homeland, the land of my fathers
|
| Bear people and hard land
|
| My own country
|
| Listen as it sings
|
| The cantor sings when the coffin is dying
|
| The old church is blessed
|
| There are escorts along the hill
|
| There are whispers among the mothers
|
| Fire with a heavy load of black runes
|
| At the intersection of the morgue
|
| Seeing no one, turned to him
|
| And it didn't look back
|
| Cold and hard ground
|
| My homeland, the land of my fathers
|
| Bear people and hard land
|
| My own country
|
| Listen as it sings
|
| I was put in a house, we came home
|
| That's it and that's enough
|
| Nights are nights and days are work
|
| Those who die in the winter are remembered
|
| But in the twilight of the evening both
|
| For the brother burns his chest
|
| It folds a branch from a rose bush
|
| When it gets dark, it disappears
|
| Cold and hard ground
|
| My homeland, the land of my fathers
|
| Bear people and hard land
|
| My own country
|
| Listen as it sings
|
| Cold and hard ground
|
| My homeland, the land of my fathers
|
| Bear people and hard land
|
| My own country
|
| Listen as it sings |