Текст песни А. Иванов - Высокий звон

At the worst Kotomk Oklah Rye bake,
I'm leaving there, where the bird is ringing.
And I see the blue sky over my own
Cosmonate cloud and high crowns.

I'm at home here. I did not come here.
Remove the cap, dressed crop.
Cheerful bird, having flowning tail,
Locks my poem.

Green grass falls under the legs,
And his hand reaches the paper.
And I whisper whispering with lips:
"Great Mighty Russian Language!"