A train, a sleepy train
For Kharkov, Gomel, Leningrad
I know how far tonight is
Belgrade

Never could
Pen and paper
And all Russian postmen
Can not bring you
A letter which
I write
A stamp with face of
Lenin
And in the letter, my love,
A sorrow breaking me.

REF:
Vodka isn't rakia
But it hits me tonight
My sorrow is so large
As large as Russia
I can't send you
Love, it is unsendable
Nor I could take with
Myself all your kisses

A train, a train full of wrinkled faces of tired passengers
You, you are somewhere behind those mountains
Maybe you're sleeping,
maybe you're awake like me
Is something bothering you,
or is nothing bothering you?
When you read
This letter I'm writing
The secred will be hidden
Behind these lines