Текст песни
The golden grove is silent.
It has had it say
In its amusing, jolly birchen tongue.
The cranes fly sadly over it, upon their way
But they leave everyone behind without a pang.
And who is everyone?
Wayfarers in this world.
We coming to a home and leave it all too soon.
And all those, who are gone, are dreamily recalled
By this sad hemp-field and the wide full moon.
I stand along amid the emptyness and skyward gaze.
The wind is carring the flocks of cranes of course.
I'm full of memories about my younger days,
But nothing makes me feel any remorse.
I think without regret of all the years I squandered
And other lilac time of my poor soul.
A fire is burning in the garden.
It's a rowan.
But it can't warm no one - its flames are cold.
The berries clusters by it won't get scorched
The yellowness will not prevent new grass from groving
I stand and drop these melancholy words
Just as a three will drop its leaves in autumn.
And if the wind and time will sweep them up one day
Into a pile of rubbish only feet to burn,
Just say the golden grove has had it say
In its sweet sounding, jolly birchen tongue.
