Текст песни Читает Василий Лановой - Михаил Светлов - Итальянец

Black cross on the chest of Italian,
Neither threading nor pattern, nor gloss -
Not a wealthy family stored
And the only son of wearable ...

Young born in Naples!
What is left in Russia you are on the field?
Why could not you be happy
Above the famous native bay?

I killed you under Mozdok,
So far I dreamed of a volcano!
As I dreamed on the Volga expanse
At least once a ride in a gondola!

But I did not come with a gun
Subtract the Italian summer,
But not my bullets whistling
Above the sacred land of Raphael!

Here I shot! Here, where he was born,
Where are friends and proud
Where epics of our peoples
Never heard in translation.

Is the middle bend of the Don
Foreign scientists have studied?
Our land - Russia, Raseyu -
Have you plowed and sowed?

No! You brought in the train
To capture the distant colonies,
To cross from the casket of the family
It grows to the size of the grave ...

I will not let her take home
For space alien seas!
I shoot - and there is no justice
Fairer my bullets!

Do you have not lived here and was not! ..
But scattered in the snow fields
Italian blue sky,
Glazed in front of the dead ...
 1943