The sky of today
looks so clear,
but now the armor
is clanking in it.

And there’s a rumble
on our earth,
and the trees are in tar,
all lonesome.

Everyone had gone,
away from misfortunes.
Singing birds are now gone -
the ravens are here!

The grain in color of amber -
will we have the time?
No. It looks like in vain
we have sowed.

What is gleaming with the color
of amber?
It is a fire raging
in the field.

The smoke and ashes rise -
like the crosses.
The storks don’t build their nests
on our roofs.

And the trees are in dust
in the autumn.
Those who couldn’t sing -
gave it up.

And the love is not for us -
isn’t that so?
What do we all need now?
Hatred! Nothing else.

I lie smoke and ashes rise -
like the crosses.
I lie storks don’t build their nests
on our roofs.

Yet the earth and the water -
moaning.
Yet the forest, like all times -
with crowns.

Only there are more wonders -
the forest
is hallooing with the prewar
sounds.

Everyone has gone, away from misfortunes.
They head for the East,
there are no singing birds -
The storks are gone.

The air quietly stores
different sounds,
but something is roaring in it,
clanking loud.

Even the noise of hoofs -
tramping.
If someone will scream -
whispering.

Everyone went their ways
to the East,
and there are no storks
above our roofs...