Текст песни КукишЪ - Табуны

Herds, herds, herds -
Drive them without an extreme steppe.
For many days and nights on the way -
In forty thousand heads of herds.

Exhausted spaciousness to fluff
With thunder, their clatter and snoring are torn.
Carrying a storm on the ridges,
Like a song in sad words.

Herds, herds, herds -
In the foam, they are torn behind the sun.
Their manes and dreams smelled of the steppe,
And there is no stop on the way.

I see even in closed eyes
There are no final running in the clouds.
One day you will drive you
In the ringing knives.

Herds, herds, herds -
You will drive along the heavenly steppe,
For many days and nights on the way
In forty thousand heads of herds.