In colds, in colds
from inhabited places
We are called in by other cities.
Whether it’s Minsk, whether it’s Brest...
In colds, in colds.

Hot in vain, not in vain
from native poplars
Hew places are luring us,
As though, we would be happier there.
Not in vain, not in vain.

No matter how warm it is at home,
we don’t have enough
Of new encounters and new friends.
As if there is trouble with them,
As if it’s warmer with them.

No matter how good
we can feel sometimes,
We are all returning home.
Where is our lucky star?
Maybe here, maybe there.