| I woke up yesterday not in an empty apartment,
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| The sweet dream didn't last long.
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| The winter wind whistled behind the damp wall
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| Alekseevsky ravelin.
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| With a booming echo the steps of the guards in the night
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| They sang a mournful song to me,
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| And the flame of a lonely candle trembled
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| On open wings of overcoats.
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| Chorus:
|
| A white blizzard, boots in the face to us.
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| What have you done with all of us, Motherland?
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| Maybe you don't see? |
| Yes, you are not blind, it seems,
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| Homeland, Homeland, Homeland, Homeland...
|
| And buried in the famous Neva granite
|
| With a hot forehead, he coughed with a cry:
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| “How many of our crosses are worth in Russia,
|
| Well, how many forgotten graves?!”
|
| Chorus:
|
| A white blizzard, boots in the face to us.
|
| What have you done with all of us, Motherland?
|
| Maybe you don't see? |
| Yes, you are not blind, it seems,
|
| Homeland, Homeland, Homeland, Homeland...
|
| Drum roll and my soldiers
|
| Bayonets rang out on the parade ground.
|
| Choking in the loop, the motive broke off ...
|
| And only eternal memory remained...
|
| Chorus:
|
| A white blizzard, boots in the face to us.
|
| What have you done with all of us, Motherland?
|
| Maybe you don't see? |
| Yes, you are not blind, it seems,
|
| Homeland, Homeland, Homeland, Homeland... |