In the silence of the Russian night,
Where shadows dance with cold delight,
The whispers of the final snow,
Embrace the souls that long to go.

Beneath the birch, the earth is still,
A solemn witness to the chill,
Where echoes of forgotten dreams,
Blend into the frozen streams.

The moonlight casts a silver veil,
On tales of life that softly pale,
In death’s embrace, a gentle sigh,
As stars adorn the endless sky.

Yet in this night, a quiet song,
A melody where souls belong,
In Russian death, a tender grace,
A timeless journey we all face.