Singer: Zoya Yaschenko and "the White guard"

And they all sat at the table
In the sun-drenched blue gazebo
There's a sea of dandelions growing
And maple pulled up to the table carved branches.
In the sky floated a magic yellow ball
Grandfather cut the bread with a luxury piece
Over the tureen some spicy couples
Father read the news column,
Laughed the mother, to the table called,
Rang lightly dishes,
And grandma solemnly carrying
From the kitchen, delicious dish.
My brother caught a terrible bug
With huge branched antlers
We the prisoner gave milk
And feed tried the pies.
Sons-in-law fussed about his Affairs,
Amused aunts old joke,
Circling spellbound bee
Over a Cup with a ruby compote.

The last shot with the heart crossed,
The inexorable final look,
But diaries who loved women
For their descendants will return.

Burn the family albums
Fireplaces heated on the coals,
From the walls of the Ipatiev house
Already suffocating fear
But my life has gone,
And left no trace.
On the horizon were burning
Their guiding star.

Bloody, drunken,
Even sing, though the wolf howl!
My native land,
What are you doing to me?

They had in stock MiG short
For rugged glory,
Sentimental beauty
They admiringly look after.
And on the triumphal parades
They are waiting for awards and ranks
But these scenes so fatal,
And those faces are so pale.

Haven't torn shoulder straps
No shot of the shelf,
Not yet red, and green
Ascend field by the river.

You read on the wall of this strange phrase
Kid's handwriting:
One hundred years of solitude...

Shots fired every quarter of an hour,
But here rarely look each other in the eye...

When the outcome of this battle,
And if you survive until dawn,
You'll know that the smell of victory
The same acrid as the smoke of defeat.
And you're the one in the cooled Sich
And there are no enemies you have now
But the sky presses down on your shoulders
And what to do in this desert?

From the roof of the city shone on,
From the roof of the city was more
Rested on the railing fingers
Black air glocals bitter.
The voice was torn at the bottom of the larynx,
Wanted daylight.
Wind sliver threw the roof
Two broken silhouette.

Only the gods and only the children
Ascended to such heights,
The roof was swirling sky,
Above the sky was love:
Inaccessible, unearthly,
Disappearing into the starry cold,
Chills the souls of others,
Warmed the sleeping city.

That's all, I can't see you.
This maelstrom be bottomless!
Remain under the starry sky,
Not beloved and not the lover.
Leaving on the night road
From spring folly,
Every street nesterina
Feel their grief.