Текст песни В. Высоцкий - Высота

Height

They clung to the height, as in his own.
Mortar fire, heavy ...
And we all climbed the crowd at her,
Like a buffet station.

And the cries of "cheers" froze in my mouth,
When we swallowed bullets.
Seven times we occupied that height -
Seven times we left her.

And again, everyone doesn’t want to attack,
The earth is like a burnt porridge ...
For the eighth time we take it for good -
Take yours, our blood, ours!

Or maybe bypass her side, -
And that we clung to her ?!
But apparently, certainly - all the fate of the path
Crossed at this high-rise.

They clung to the height, as in his own.
Mortar fire, heavy ...
And we all climbed the crowd at her,
Like a buffet station.