That stringed crane with strings and strings
Don't think that the wounded will never fly again
Its wings are stuck on the migratory cloud
It tells the old me to the present me
Don't go out on the paths
Those mountains, those fields, those snowy plains
Everything is defeated by time
We grew up and got dirty. world
Stringy, that stringed crane
Do not think that the wounded will never fly again
Its wings are stuck on the migrating cloud
It will come back One day it will land on its homeland
That stringed crane
What is left here but the skies
What is left for tomorrow and after us
HerÅ Something got on the kites and went away