Текст песни А. Иващенко, Г. Васильев - В густой траве пропадешь с головой

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In the thick grass will be gone with his head.
In the quiet house will enter without knocking ...
Embrace hand scythe opletet
And stately, says: & quot; Hello Prince.

Here I have - shrub roses.
Here yesterday - dodder wound.
Where I was lost? that in the news brought?
Who likes, dislikes, who persecute us? & Quot;

As had happened, forget the days go by,
As it happens, I'm sorry, who are proud and angry.
And look - the clouds in the distance stand,
And listen to the songs of distant villages ...

Cry heart on the wrong side,
Request for a fight - calls and beckons ...
Just say: & quot; Goodbye. Come back to me & quot; -
And again, for the grass bell rings ...

***
The river stretches. Flowing, sad lazy
And washes the shore.
Over the meager yellow clay cliff
In the steppes of sad stack.

Oh, my Russia! My wife! Painfully
We clear a long way!
Our way - arrow of ancient Tatar ferocity
Pierced our breast.

Our path - the steppe, our way - in boundless grief,
In your grief, of Russia!
And even darkness - Night and foreign -
I'm not afraid.

Let night. Whisk. Ozar fires
Steppe distance.
The steppe smoke will flash holy banner
And Khan's saber steel ...

And the eternal battle! Rest we can only dream
Through blood and dust ...
Flies, flies steppe mare,
And crumples feather ...

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