country under his kind, soulful songs, now our guest from the village of lesnoy , moscow region, elena sokolovathe name of the next song. music by evgeny ptichkin. the trees are lost in the fog, the sun is rising, on the red... hillocks of a village, in the middle of russia, here on benches, grandfathers jokingly remember their lives, here a cliff dives into the river, trusting. skoe my childhood, my village childhood, from the fire of cockscombs, the dawn lights up in the distance, the balls circle, the smell of rain, the smell of hay. and warm earth, here buckets are breaking into the wells, a crazy wind is whitening the fields, here females are rushing through the snow, my rural childhood, villages. they are pouring into a club of harmony, the yellow moon has bent deep, and tired folni are grazing in a cool and wet meadow, here they handed me the land as an inheritance. there is no way i can live without her, this is where my childhood is written, my rural childhood, my rural childhood. my rural childhood. the smell of rain, the smell of hay and warm earth is dizzying, here buckets clink at