Текст песни Вячеслав Тихонов - В этой роще берёзовой

This grove of birch,
Far from suffering and misery,
Where ranges pink
Solid morning light.
Where transparent avalanche
Pour leaves from high branches,
Sing to me, oriole, song of the desert,
The song of my life.

But in the life of the soldiers we
And already at the limits of the mind,
Shudders atoms
White swirl vzmetaya home.
How mad mill
Waving around a raven,
Where are you, oriole, forest recluse,
What do you fell silent, my friend?

In the great rivers
The sun rises, and in the morning mist,
With scorched centuries
I killed dropping to the ground.
Shouting mad crow,
All trembling, silent machine gun,
And then in my heart torn
Your voice sings.