Текст песни Вячеслав Тихонов - Песня об иволге

In this birch grove
Far from suffering and misery
Where pink hovers
Unblinking morning light
Where a transparent avalanche
Leaves are pouring from tall branches
Sing to me, Oriole, a desert song
The song of my life.

But we are soldiers in Zhizin
And already on the limits of the mind
Atoms tremble
Sweeping away the houses with a white whirlwind,
Like homeless mills
Wars are waving in circles
Where are you, Oriole, forest hermit,
That you are silent, my friend.

The sun will rise behind the great rivers
And in the morning gloom
With scorched eyelids
I will fall killed to the ground.
I scream like a mad raven
The machine gun will be silent all trembling,
And then your voice is torn in my heart
will sing.