| Rye was born in the field, grew to the sky.
|
| Good flour lay in the bins.
|
| It turned out from flour, that crust of bread,
|
| That her palm lay on top of the glass.
|
| Chorus:
|
| I, melancholy-bastard, today is yours.
|
| There is one reason, though the howl of a wolf.
|
| I'll let go of the girth, I'll pour the wine,
|
| Remembering a friend, shed a tear.
|
| Juice flows from a birch, spring Spas,
|
| And men's tears are not for show.
|
| That's why alone with them
|
| So calm to me, so calm to me.
|
| And along the tablecloth of fate, along the crimson border
|
| The needle of past days is pulling the stitches.
|
| And the men leave somehow too early.
|
| It can be seen that the Lord needs our men more.
|
| Chorus:
|
| I, melancholy-bastard, today is yours.
|
| There is one reason, though the howl of a wolf.
|
| I'll let go of the girth, I'll pour the wine,
|
| Remembering a friend, shed a tear.
|
| Juice flows from a birch, spring Spas,
|
| And men's tears are not for show.
|
| That's why alone with them
|
| So calm to me, so calm to me.
|
| In the open field, among the snows, the stitch began to spin.
|
| According to which a person ended his path.
|
| And nothing has changed in this world
|
| It just got a little bit colder on the Earth.
|
| Chorus:
|
| I, melancholy-bastard, today is yours.
|
| There is one reason, though the howl of a wolf.
|
| I'll let go of the girth, I'll pour the wine,
|
| Remembering a friend, shed a tear.
|
| Juice flows from a birch, spring Spas,
|
| And men's tears are not for show.
|
| That's why alone with them
|
| So calm to me, so calm to me. |