Te, kto risuet nas, Risuiut krasnym na serom. Tsveta kak tsveta, No ia govoriu o drugom, Esli by ia umel ehto, ia narisoval by tebia Tam, gde zelenye derev'ia I zoloto na golubom. Mesto v kotorom my zhivem - V nem dostatochno sveta, No kazhdyj zakat serdtse poet rod steklom. Esli by ia byl plotnikom, Ia sdelal by korabl' dlia tebia Chtoby uplyt' s toboj k derev'iam I k zolotu na golubom. Esli by ia mog liubit', Ne trebuia liubvi ot tebia, Esli by ia ne boialsia I pel o svoem, Esli by ia umel videt', Ia by uvidel nas kak my est', Kak zelenye derev'ia i zoloto na golubom.