Текст песни Павло Зібров - Шахтерские жены

Waste heaps, like mountain peaks,
The domes reach the stars
Black princes are leaving the mine,
And the tired go home.

Somewhere there are beauties overseas,
But your own, dear is the best
Blossoms with a miner's light
A gentle smile on your face.

Prispiv:
Miner's wives, crimson ringing,
The memory of the departed husbands will respond,
But children grow up and moms turn gray
Already waiting for their sons.

If the heart is bad,
Mom will quietly say: "We must wait ..."
How much do you, beloved, have to,
Time for anxiety to multiply.

But Donbass does not like sad songs,
And when there is no turning back
Your braids are light brown,
To rise to us into the white light.

Prispiv