Cars are passing, here is another rushing by -
Everybody of course to their precise destinations,
Perhaps from the song Ancharov - a "MAZ",
Loaded with caspic herrings.
I go along the way like a beggar with a bag,
Cleverly saving a copek
And my strength I spend rationally too,
And the outcry I muffle in the body warmer.
Where to, what for? - One can live, if one knows.
And one can - without any effort
Wake up and get up, if I could only sleep,
And sing, if there would be no snow-storms.