We can’t find ourselves,
As mine or you, or smph,
In clamp, where we are slaves,
But Slavs is our pump.
We are pumping Russian world
With welcome, salt and meal,
But If you’ll come with sword,
You’ll die from your own steel.
We squeeze out servile pith
From flesh and spirit’s vis,
How giant of the myth
Squeezed water from the cheese.
Forget your gun and bun
To kindly life and breathe
In land, where everyone
Is son of mother-Earth.
Forget your common trend,
Remember love and hate,
To sing with us, our friends,
Like guests-confederates.
We’ll accept song of brave,
We’ll cheer a weak motive,
Cause Slavic haven’t slaves
And don’t confess with chiefs.
