bo ў kupala night. in the burning fires, our products burned the poles with stakes on top.ola sank and fell into the water. to such chins there are roofs of land and waters, a sign of wealth in iraja. i don’t want to drive, i’m aiming, the field is in a hurry, drive fresh. driving from the full valley, i’ll drink from the smaga, i’m not drinking amaral, remember, let me drink from the forest, i’ll drink in my valley, i ’ll come, my dear. i’m not a padman, i’ll give you the best of luck, i’ll give you all the weight, i’ll go to the spring, the frequent guardian of the forest. by the way, you're not a big darling, i bear with you, i'm carrying a little bit of life, by the way, you're going to hell in the forest, i know... and the night of may is small, oh the wound, naiva, oh, the little one on the leg is small, small! you have all the watches for the right kahanna, and only non-khlyubchanka muggles weave your mary on the handle and wear it on your kahana. uncovered youths of that padarunak and ўbachyts on the tent of trees, fir trees, on the weavers' language, old-time lover