Текст песни HAYDAMAKY - Pid oblachkom

Under the cloud the sycamore is inclined,
The birds sitting on it are pitying.
You hear sweet, like that bird singing,
But out of love the night is not good.
Same out of love, same out of love
Nothing is good.

The fortune teller foretold me,
The girl with black beards will fool me.
But I will not see the world,
My young summers will pass.
As much as pass, as much as pass
My young summers.

Have you given me love from God?
Are you perhaps whispered by the devil?
Even if you don't want to, you have to love,
Even if I didn't want to, I can't stand it.
At least I didn't want to, at least I didn't want to
Proto mash tolerate.

Under the cloud the sycamore turns green,
You hear, my dear, how that wind blows.
Can uproot it,
My dear, what will happen to us?
My dear, my dear,
What will happen to us?