Fog drifted ravines,
Dreading flying higher!
Across the ground bloody wounds,
Here the river overflowed pain!
From the deep bowels, the moans can still be heard,
Millions lost ITV.
Cool Yar, Not immortal,
Rebellious spirit in fighting the carrier.
The famines we mowed,
War of the wing of the fire of hell.
The prisons of the enemies were left to rot,
There's blood starcame tech!
Here the inch is not to find
The land where sorrow was not.
About the mother, the mother Ukraine,
My source of inspiration!
How to pluck you, mother,
From the clutches of big trouble?!
My ancient, gray-haired mother,
Again the boots of the wild hordes
Breaks the fate of the Ukrainian
Brings horror and death to us.
Tears of pain already on the crown
... And poured in the Lord's temple
Pray for the foe
Lost your children go...
And potentates, kings, Zarate
You poor thing you sell
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