| This time I will sing for you not about special forces,
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| And about the profession of a sapper, my story
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| In iron nerves, strain to failure
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| After all, you can make a mistake in it only once
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| About the fate that is often in non-narratives,
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| About monotonous everyday life, which is not for show,
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| About people serving the Fatherland by vocation
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| And often like angels burying us.
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| And on the example of one of the officers
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| I will show you how important their role is sometimes
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| And from irreparable troubles of what size
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| Saves their skill, experience and control
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| Ural guy, senior lieutenant of the infantry
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| In the arms of false silence, not our mountains
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| Always took his job seriously
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| And there was the best engineer-sapper in the brigade
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| And then one morning the cars started up,
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| And puffed into the smoke wrapped in armor
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| Caterpillars howled and tires whined,
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| The sappers are ahead, they have their own game
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| And on the way of the mobile military column
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| Having worked in unison with my group
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| The most powerful land mine stuffed to the eyeballs
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| Hacked the starley and saved the whole battalion
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| I sang to you about the holy military share,
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| About the daily death game
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| About those who chose this path of their own free will
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| And as the creator is able to change fate
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| What sometimes leads us through a dark corridor
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| Not allowing souls to escape into the light
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| And often only thanks to the sappers,
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| The soldier meets the next dawn alive.
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| And often only thanks to the sappers,
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| The soldier meets the next dawn alive. |