In the Russian village by the small pond
My Chatschele stood, lonely, alone.
I will long for you and always think of you
Because you were my rodzne, my homeland
Marushka Rosia I long so much for you
For the birch tree, for Chatschele, for the green wood.

Like I long for the Russian songs
For the sweet sisters and brothers
For Russian people, who are genuine.
For Russian people, who are more precious than money.
And a storm that has been unleashed on the world
People like Chakes one after the other
Melkhume, the Not, ordered to kill
And burned und crushed money and forests.

My Chatschele is burned. I no longer
Have a homeland. Now I am [illegible]
And now I sing for you: Ref Matu [...]