Текст песни Людмила Зыкина - Баллада о Матери

A bullet mowed down by a son
Burning pain swept mother.
There is nobody with hope and love
She is now under her roof to expect.

From the deaf sobs of exhaustion,
Dozed off and dreamed about her
As if she is Russia itself,
Mother of one hundred million sons.

Like in a field singed by a whirlwind
Where does the last burn out battle
Cries, calling by name,
Sons that will not come home.

Selflessly brave and beautiful,
Life of those who gave, so that she lives ...
Never forget them Russia
How not to scoop the seas to the bottom ...

The light is smoking; it is soaked in blood.
Between the dead quiet mother goes
And with severe patient sorrow
At the head of the eternity he puts them.

And the soul does not run out of power.
And the future lies before her
Because she is Russia,
Mother of a hundred million sons!