Текст песни Духовный стих - Пташка

Oh, you Ptashka and poor thing -
Pretty my bird
What did you fly early
In these long-range edges.

Or wind strong storm
In this edge you lied
Il native friends separation
Clealed you here.

But bitter your share here
The local edge is not mil.
Not your will
It's hard to live here.

What bitterly do so bored
And you are sad.
What a sadness is worried
Gives your breasts your longing.

Who suffer from yours can
Tears bitter pouring river
That you are wings lowered
You can not eat sweetly sweetly.

I'm neither summer or spring
Nothing is fun
I will go to the edge of the far
And there I will hide from people.

Behind the sea, forests and rivers
Welcome there between the beasts
For dense forests
I will find my own live.

I will become frozen tears
I am writing and drink
I am alone forgotten by all
To know, God is destined.

And all the neighbor
All forgot about me.
Everyone forgot, forgotten
And they abrasted me.

God God here is hope
Small orphan.
He is food and clothes
My poor poverty.

People of good range a lot
But others are all around
All strangers, no native
There is no sympathy in any.