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Once I was a free bird, But now I have shackles upon me, As if chains have been heaped upon me. Do not look down from heaven, my mother, At how I have been deprived of freedom! Ah, ma-aa! Oh, let the field roam free again! The chains will be torn asunder, I will cast off my shackles. Ah, field, roam free! And let my soul shine! As my mother used to say: "You are not a tool And not a weapon, You are a human being. Outwardly, perhaps a weakling, But in the Russian way, Truly strong!" So declares the field of the soul: "We will cast off all our shackles! And show that we are strong!" And for now — dance, oh dance!