boiled cheeks, boiled-cooked-varenky, for shea old felt boots, i quickly clean, i can’t stop you, zavalokinhearts are torn by suffering, looking at you, winter, siberian, winter. i came to our city of navasibi on the avenue lights of dasanyavalenki yage, i sashay do not cry to the serts. for me my love, my siberia, winter the siberian winter has come to our city, novosibir, the stones are burning on the avenues, the lanterns are burning, blushing on the cheeks, honyas and two slimes on the welded cheeks. your music inspires the race with the ruins and life of the future, and the white dove flew on the white dove. flew along it, bravo! now, friends, near this fire valentina akentyeva will begin to sing a joke about the red yar, and then, and then shouts, yes, i will fall, i ask for music, red! the village is large and stands on the shore, i won’t run away from this siren. yes, i remember a lot, and how it sounded an accordion in his hands, and what holidays were celebrated, not at all embarrassed by the unusually curious eye of the television camera, and what songs flew, and in fact it chill