Write, my mother in Egypt


The heat of the desert, we cheeks schipet
and sand blasted mouth.
Write me, my mother in Egypt.
How's my Volga lives?


I do not hurry back
that memory is stored about us
this yellow and incomprehensible
unlike the Volga River Nile.

Will the sea, we know that.
Will the sky in the sea of ​​dust ...
and fly here to follow us
our Russian cranes

I'd rather be in Siberia ticket,
but know when there will be a period
vrug to Mars will begin recruitment,
I would have gone on godok


Here, like all the air drunk
There is no rain for the third year.
Write me mum in Egypt ..
How's my Volga lives?