Текст песни Данилов Сергей - Черная трава выжженного поля...

Black scorched grass of the field,
Freezes on the lips coppery taste of blood
In the sky instead of stars burning down flashes of missiles ...
Somewhere in the middle of a cool summer house ...

It was the fourth hour of a protracted battle.
Not only were we, but left two
Former boys in young carelessness once
Avoid military enlistment office.

In private affairs invested agenda,
Everyone was waiting for his wife did not - the bride,
Fear drove away and was counting the days to return.
Just was not like the battle of learning.

Dropped from the rocks, from the far ledge.
Fighting here longing, and not fight stupid.
We are in the mountains - a landing, and they - not the first week:
Each stone is carefully sighted.

All ammunition released, though burst.
We have twenty years, and in view of all two hundred.
Two hundred and long winters behind him stand in silence simple,
In order not to leave these mountains day.

Black grass scorched field.
Gore gray head fed our pain.
Taken in the ring, the two of us and two checks grenades -
Engagement rings soldier.

Freestyle grass in a wide field,
Villages of the island-bound path,
I run on it, keep up the steps of his grandfather ...
Somewhere in the middle of a cool summer home.

Rain, and the earth shall give us feed,
As the troops in the order will enter the word "remember."
On my land now not finish singing a lot of songs,
Where in the midst of a cool summer home.