Текст песни Арсений Тарковский - Проводы

Wipe his lips, put on an overcoat,
And without looking, he will kiss his wife.
And outside the wind is blowing
He will blow hops out of his heart.

And the wagon train will reach the city,
You won't get a hundred grams on the way,
Only the wind rushes to your feet
And his eyes burn to tears.

If you were a collective farmer, you will become a fighter.
Let about the homeland, free and ancient,
Few songs were composed in the village -
You go out into the field, and that's the end of it.

And on the road, the wife is crying,
Wailing and wringing my hands,
Like black horses of Mamai,
Somewhere close, like in those days
They rush, raising snow dust,
The wind blows and the stirrups ring.

Arseny Tarkovsky. Poems of different years.
Moscow, "Contemporary" 1983.