Текст песни Евгений Бунтов - Путь на Мангазею

Thought again a heavy burden
tends violent little heads.
What kind of tribe are you?
What are you wandering about from?

Ahead, the edges are dissimilar.
Beckons the distance with an enviable share.
Separate, people of God -
give me a breather!

Had to know - if only! -
where the straw is laid for the future ...
Neither prayers nor songs
these distances were not exhausted.

An angry infusion of troubles with sorrow,
know to drink to the bottom promised.
But not by deceit, but by conscience
to bequeathed to old age ...

Like a chopping block, the wind of time
rolls violent little heads.
What kind of tribe are you?
What are you wandering about from?