When behind me I hear the rush of feet.
Woes have come and sought me,
Alas, had I bethought me.
"Your passport," they ask. Alas, it is lost!
"Then serve the White Czar!" that is the cost.
Woe has come and sought me,
Alas, had I bethought me.
There are many rooms, they take me to one,
And strip from my body the poor homespun.
Woe has come and sought me,