From my sadness was left to me a large coat that lets the cold go through
From those scraps of youth an old hat that does not protect me
I am better at chosing a path, at not trusting a hand
You see, I know nothing
The time that goes on doesn't heal anything, Natacha You know that

From a thousand years of cold, of toundra, of all these Russias that flow inside of you
From too many winters and hopes and alcohol, to the songs of the Balalaikas
You say that we're afraid, and that we slip into these fears, like slip the nights of Viatka
In every one of your kisses Natacha, it's all of that that binds me to you

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