weave with paddouble weavings, ales mikalayevich is rightful to this heavenly land, i am supreme bachylaan. at the exhibition of the people's gaspadarki in maskva in 1987, and as our museum has become dzyarzhainy, holektaram pelakos ales mikalaevich, he stuck with these, and collects the collected berries from the church, from the cathedral, these fallen wars, all of them, and these on this stage, then they rode and the paradise peeper, like yana adchey and paprasil. once i got the hang of it, we weaved on simple sleeps in such flimsy fabrics, and then they began to weave, the workers of the museum wove, in just an hour, since i wove them, then only the last thing was woven from them in two months, you know you know, there are two fabrics involved here, so, there, and for the getag treba snavat adrazu dzve asnovy, vos raskazhytse ab hetym zadrabyazni, uh-huh. here we have red, red and black colors, which means that in order to work out the basics, we need to take two threads of red, two threads of black, and lay down the hell just as quickly as we can tie them together. and i don’t mean,

the light, the dreams and that day are not fair, when the lover took it. the clear voices of your bachylaalles, ale brana send. cube in the spring stripes of piles there was a bachyl, then mane, our ancestral mother, evrrasinnya, little god for us. god bless us. belarusian folk song, in the evening behind the river, in the evening behind the river, in the evening behind the river the song is pamuchyts, i will go out... i don’t know anything, i don’t know anything, i ’m not here myself, i’m going to the spring, i’m going to go. i haven’t forgotten my kuta, but yesterday my little ones sent me a letter saying that it’s developed, that it’s been developed, dear abyazza. zet spring kirmashka praadavat, if only the horse is a gift, and what’s wrong with it? oh my horse the horse, the horse is too busy, every pabava sells, oh my horse, the horse is too busy, and the huchey and the huts, don’t sell the weight for the kirmashka, but the horses are only us, and what kind of people are they? oh, my horse, my horse, the horse is well-dressed, every woman, please, you are the hutch and the huts, some

bachyla, that... a distant axis , to make some kind of leggings, but not with you, don’t spin , oh, don’t dance, don’t dance. i am all very, small, small, ka, sheraya-sheraya, where you were musanka, palettes, what i was doing, what i was doing, i was fat and mountains, strong, strong, my wings were sick, i can’t be beautiful, oh, don’t dance, no... good evening, dear ones, may you bless the saints, may your gifts be given, and in the sky my hands are singing, my hands are touching my heels, i am swimming. let's sleep our song, let's remember our worries in the forest, our father's garden, let's get together together, one family at the table, and we won't hesitate, we know, we'll hug and order a song. one family at the table and we won't hesitate, we know, the crimean song behind which, the path borders the village, and in the sky the hands are raised, the corn in the yellow earlobes. we know, will we pour out a song for a jacket, let's light up at once, one family at the table and we won't hesitate,