A whispered song once haunted Europe
From fields to factories
The birds, the mules, alike repeat

Почему поля мы трудимся
*Why is it that the fields we toil*
Принадлежит царю
*Belong to the tsar?*
Почему мы работаем до смерти
*Why is it that we work to death*
Ни за что, кроме обрезков
*For nothing but scraps?*

From there it traveled near and far
And the people there rejoiced
Added verses of their own

为什么我们辛劳的果实
*Why is it that the fruit of our toils* 
直接去找楼主
*Go straight to the landlords* 
为什么他们可以坐
*Why is it that they may sit* 
当我们几乎饿死的时候
*While we nearly starve* 

But then a wealthy neighbor
grew bothered by the noise
And so enlisted his police
To choke it into silence

Yet no matter how rich 
and strong the neighbors
The singers, they are far more

So long as one man recalls the tune,
For every windpipe silenced
So will sing a hundred more.