Текст песни Анна Ахматова - Птицы смерти в зените стоят...

Birds are at the zenith of death.
Who is going to bail out of Leningrad?

Do not make noise around - he breathes,
It is still alive, he hears everything:

How to wet the bottom of the Baltic Sea
His sons are groaning in his sleep,

As his cries from the depths: "Bread!"
Before reaching the seventh heaven ...

But this ruthless firmament.
And looking out of the windows - death.

1941