A balalaika on the roof burns my soul
with the echo of distant steppes .
A bird of fire flies across the steel sky ,
snow coat has a strange melancholy face...
Friend ,once again the battle calls !
I love this low melody that rises
from an oriental dawn ,daughter of winter !
The strenght of rough waters warms
iron -stone souls and fearless hearts !
Friends ,the songs draw you towards the infinite
which has the face of unreachable love ...
I feel the breath of this tragedy
on the road to Novgorod ...
Father,mother ,brothers and sweet spouse,
flesh and blood tribe,all will take you in their arms !
Friend , coming back from the hateful west
at the setting of the black sun ...
You\'ll push open the isba door ,
the samovar of the ancient burning your body ,
you\'ll rediscover the glorious legends of childhood ...
On the river pass the silent boatmen, in the land
where every day is a prayer,every hour a sacrifice ...
friend,holy warrior of eternity ,
you will rest for ever
in the mother earth sweetness
far away, on the road to Novgorod ...