Текст песни Сергей Титов - Ржавые листья

From black bread and a faithful wife
We are infected with a pallid disease ...

The hoof and stone have experienced years,
Immortal wormwood soaked in water, -
And the bitterness of wormwood on our lips ...
To us the knife - not on a brush,
Pen - not to your liking,
Kirk is out of honor
And glory is not in glory:
We are rusty leaves
On rusty oaks ...
A little wind,
A little north -
And we fly around.
Whose path are we now carving?
Whose feet on our rust will pass?
Will the trumpeters be trampling young people?
Will other constellations rise above us?
We are rusty oaks flying around comfort ...
Homeless cold warm air ...
We're leaving on the night!
We're leaving on the night!
Like ripe stars, we fly at random ...
The trumpeters are rattling over us young,
We are above the star constellations of strangers,
Above us, other people's banners are making noise ...
A little wind,
A little north -
Break for them,
Ride after them,
Go after them,
Roll in the fields,
Sing in the steppes!
Behind the gleam of the bayonet, flying through the clouds,
Behind the clatter of hooves in the dens of the dense,
For the song of the trumpet, drowned in the woods ...

Eduard Bagritsky