Father Makhno looks into a window.
There is dark in the yard.
A monk stands at post
And hardly holds oneself on one's feet.
The monastery is sleeping, and the village is drowsing.
Gnats beat against the pane.
Stars and the moon shines,
And there is silence at the neighbourhood.
The deads with scythes stand along way.
This is act of red imps.
The deads with scythes throw off tsar.
This is trade of scarlet ...
This is trade of scarlet ... oh!
Glow, glow, glow. Scarlet glow.
Glow, glow, glow. Scarlet glow.
All province, all district
Saw their true cross.
They gallop through fog.
"Ataman, why are not you happy?"
The field, walk! The flame, glow!
The pistol, begin to shoot!
Lads! I like to live,
I don't must grieve.
The deads with scythes stand along way.
This is act of red imps.
The deads with scythes throw off tsar.
This is trade of scarlet ...
This is trade of scarlet ... oh!
Glow, glow, glow. Scarlet glow.
Glow, glow, glow. Scarlet glow.
