Текст песни Бродский - на смерть жукова

I see columns of frozen sounds
coffin on a gun carriage, croup horse.
The wind doesn't bring me sounds here
Russian military weeping pipes.
I see the corpse removed in regalia:
the fiery Zhukov leaves for death.

Warrior, before whom many fell
walls, even though the sword was enemy blunts,
the brilliance of the Hannibal maneuver
reminiscent of the Volga steppes.
Ending his days deaf in disgrace
like Belisarius or Pompey.

How much he shed the soldier’s blood
into a strange land! Well, grieving?
Did the dying civilian remember them
white bed? Complete failure.
What will he answer by meeting in hellish
areas with them? "I fought."

To the right case of the beetles Zhukov
will no longer attach to battle.
Go to sleep The history of the Russian page
enough for those in the infantry formation
boldly entered foreign capitals,
but returned in fear to their own.

Marshal! swallow the greedy Summer
these words and your prahory.
Still, accept them - a miserable contribution
who saved the motherland, saying aloud.
Beat, drum, and war flute,
whistle loudly in the manner of a bullfinch.