Te, kto risuet nas,
Risuiut krasnym na serom.
Tsveta kak tsveta,
No ia govoriu o drugom,
Esli by ia umel ehto, ia narisoval by tebia
Tam, gde zelenye derev'ia
I zoloto na golubom.

Mesto v kotorom my zhivem -
V nem dostatochno sveta,
No kazhdyj zakat serdtse poet rod steklom.
Esli by ia byl plotnikom,
Ia sdelal by korabl' dlia tebia
Chtoby uplyt' s toboj k derev'iam
I k zolotu na golubom.

Esli by ia mog liubit',
Ne trebuia liubvi ot tebia,
Esli by ia ne boialsia
I pel o svoem,
Esli by ia umel videt',
Ia by uvidel nas kak my est',
Kak zelenye derev'ia i zoloto na golubom.