Oh, the roadways
Oh, the roadways, dust and haze of mist,
Angst, and cold, and worries, and the tall steppe weeds...
Not a soul knows what the fate had set,
Maybe you will fold your wings in the middle of the steppe.
Dust is swirling underneath boots, along steppes, along fields,
All around is rage of fire and hot bullet whiz.
Oh, the roadways, dust and haze of mist,
Angst, and cold, and worries, and the tall steppe weeds...
Burst of gunshot, circles of the crow,
In wild grass your friend lies gone forevermore.
And the road keeps on going, the dust keeps on swirling,
All around the land is fuming, an alien land.
Oh, the roadways, dust and haze of mist,
Angst, and cold, and worries, and the tall steppe weeds...
Land of pine trees, sun lights up the dawn,
A mother by her home porch waits for son's return.
And along unending pathways, along steppes, along fields,
We are always watched and followed by the dearest of eyes.
Oh, the roadways, dust and haze of mist,
Angst, and cold, and worries, and the tall steppe weeds...
Snow or wind blows, friends, let's recollect,
Each and one of those roads we must not forget.