Of Love, Of hope, of quiet fame,
 Not long caressed us   Lie,
 Has disappeared the pleasure's flame
 Of youth like morning-fly;
 But still is burning us desire,
 The fate of power underneath,
 Impatient soul, 
We listen under  fire,
 The voice of fatherland does call!
 In languish   hope  we wait 
 The minute of saint liberty,
 As  lover would possess his date,
 With tolerance and dignity.
 As long we burn of freedom,
 As long as our hearts for honor given,
 My friend, let's dedicate  to fatherland,
 Those Perfect  impulses of Soul
 My  Comrade, trust : 
 She will come up,-
 The Star of fascinating Beauty!
( And Russia once Will Win World cup)
 And Russia once will wake from crap.
 And on the wreckage of vanity's shames!
 They are going to write our names!