The grey walls of smoke veils

Shall pass us through to the fireplace, but, alas, it is a farewell

In mournful times the devil holds its feast

Of fatal carelessness of men.

Chorus:

Siberia burning, the Urals – burning,

Forests aflame throughout the Volga lands,

As a funeral boat

It slips from the weak hands

Ashes scatter out of the faded eyes

Crows cry deafeningly

The wind pierces the soul

With death through the smolder…

When all that’s left inside

Is slush, pain and mold

The time of human laments

And drawling songs of the winds.

We bury our body

In flames replacing our burial grounds

The soul has already turned to ashes

In agony and anger

Chorus:

Siberia burning, the Urals – burning,

Forests aflame throughout the Volga lands,

As a funeral boat

Carries me onwards to my final journey…