Ukraine grumbled It grumbled for a long time It bleeded and got redder along the steppes for a long while It bleeded, bleeded and dried. The steppes are turning green. Grandfathers lye, and tombs above them are showing blue (in the sense that you can see them, stand out as dark hill on the background) And what about them being so high? Nobody knows them, Nobody will cry sincerely, Nobody will remember. Just wind will blow above them quietly And the dew drops will wash them in the early morning. The sun will rise, dry and cherish And grandsons? They don't care They sow the grain for the barins. There is a lot of them, but who will say Where the Gonti's tomb is (Gonti - name, or a surname) Where is the saint martyr buried? Where did Zaliznyak (name as well), the generous soul, find his peace? It's hard! It's difficult! The Tormentor reigns, and they will not be remembered. Ukraine grumbled It grumbled for a long time It bleeded and got redder along the steppes for a long while It bleeded, bleeded and dried. Cannons fired day and night The Earth cries and sags (bends) It's sad, it's frightening but when you recall this your heart smiles.