Текст песни Марат Хаердинов - Всем погибшим

music, words Marat Haerdinov

All the victims
From morning mist swollen
Mid band.
Minute rain ensued,
Will run down his cheeks like tears.
In the vastness of the boundless Russian,
Behind the scenes of the great undertakings,
On the hill amid the birches buried Mothers, fathers, sons.

Persons sulfur from pain and suffering,
Only tears not withered eyes.
The stuck into his chest, like broken hands.
Silence - a question in Heaven.
Officers farewell speech
Said motionless as pillars.
Following the soldiers, taking on his shoulders,
Spread over the graves graves.

Bury, cold marble,
Dali volley and took the glass.
They vowed revenge at the Battle of blood
And sped away on a deception,
Do not spare neither himself nor ammunition.
And grow like mushrooms in the autumn,
In the family, with lovely open spaces of childhood
In cemeteries poles baptized.

What the truth is that such
Whose truth vzrastёt blood?
Ah, Russia, for what, I do not know
The sons of your die?
Guilty no one will find,
Though they know without exception.
Again Archangel diligently writes
On cheeks again sechёt rain.

G. 2001