Across the wild steppes of Transbaikalia,
Where they do dig gold in the mountains,
One tramp, cursing his fate weird, alas,
Dragged himself with a bag on his shoulders.
He walks through the dense taiga rim,
Where only birds sing, very svift.
A cauldron on his side disturbs him,
Dry leathers beat his bare feet.
He is wearing a thin shirt shabby
With many different patches,
A prisoner\'s cap looks seedy,
And a gray prison robe in strippes.
He escaped from prison a dark night,
In prison he suffered for the truth -
He can\'t go any further, no why -
Before him stretched Baikal lough.
The tramp approaches sacred Baikal,
As thief takes a fishing free boat bent.
And starts a sad song -wolf howl,
Sings something about his homeland.
- I left my young wife long time ago,
I left my little children out my sight.
Now hesitating at random, i permanently go.
God knows, if I\'ll see her again might.
The tramp crossed Baikal, quickly rather.
His dear mother is coming towards him.
I want to know, if my father is well kin?
Buried in damp earth, enough fine.
And your brother now habitats in Siberia,
He has been rattling in shackles for a long time.
Let\'s go to our native hut house:
Your wife there misses her husband,
And the children are crying in a crowd.