2018.11.06.
My friend Kowal
In the fourth season, the plums are picked offTearing in secret on a dewy stone wall.
Do not weep from your soul, my friend Kowal,
For it is not easy for me as well.
Already in which week do we wait for the flu,
When the country lights up in flames.
My friend Kowal, let's drag out a song,
For it is not easy for me as well.
Somewhere our horses had rushed for away
And our fate was carried on a starry night.
We dream in our separation, of a burned out father
With a grey haired wife that comes in a dream.
And we would be frankly agitated wickedly
To break down a firm hand against holiness.
And to name our own black affairs
Again they had secreted the Moscow regiments
And the stepmother's fate, is lying without glory
We were given exiting years of winning.
So let's be invincible, my friend Kowal,
For the glory of Ukraine, unto ages forever!