From the fog and the poplar, the wind was born in the field, the young wind was born in the field.
His spring enchanted, his autumn called to the mountains, and he fell in love with the winter with a sincere heart.
The wind fell in love with the winter, day and night he was in love and sang only songs dedicated to her.
And the portrait of the winter was inspired by how the nameless artist painted every day on every window.
Oh, you are a russian bride, sit in the sadness of gold, you came to me yesterday in the spring.
My bride is Lada, the bride goes to the garden at midnight and on a white horse.

It was snowy at the wedding, and the past nights were white, a butterfly was born in the garden.
And already the father hears the wind, like a daughter, the moon sings and gives her a hoop of gold.
Oh, you are a russian bride, sit in the sadness of gold, you came to me yesterday in the spring.
My bride is Lada, the bride goes to the garden at midnight and on a white horse.

Oh, you are a russian bride, sit in the sadness of gold, you came to me yesterday in the spring.
My bride is Lada, the bride goes to the garden at midnight and on a white horse.
Oh, you are a russian bride, sit in the sadness of gold, you came to me yesterday in the spring.
My bride is Lada, the bride goes to the garden at midnight and on a white horse.
My bride is Lada.
My bride is Lada.