| Good night old people, good night
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| Let not the long-standing battles disturb you,
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| Let the cranes not prophesy parting for you,
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| And nightingales will cure insomnia,
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| Let former brothers come to their senses
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| And the leapfrog of the calendar will stop,
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| Just remember - good is irreversible,
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| Everything that you have done - you did not in vain!
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| You didn't promise to win in vain
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| in front of an orphaned yard,
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| and not in vain so many years were celebrated
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| funeral instead of funeral
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| and not in vain, not giving up sorrow,
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| in forty-one and forty-two
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| covered with their shoulders
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| This is the sky from both sides ...
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| Good night old people, good night
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| May your new day be easy for good,
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| May the lead of newspaper lines not touch you
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| And machine-gun bursts...
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| And let it be rewarded to you at least in that little
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| At least in a small way, but now and right here,
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| Let drivers make way for you
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| Let young people lend a hand...
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| And let you not dream at night
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| this black burnt platform,
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| and the minute when they were silent
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| the rumble of funnels and the hubbub of crows,
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| and how you screamed out of powerlessness,
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| suffocating in a trench with cheese,
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| and shouting leaned their shoulders
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| it's the sky on both sides...
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| Good night old people, good night
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| When the trams and neighbors cease to sound,
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| Let you dream of a modest little blue handkerchief,
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| And the faces of good fellow soldiers,
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| And again a serviceman returns from the front,
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| Katyusha goes to the bank to wait for him.
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| Everything by which you have lived so far, everything by which you are alive,
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| Human memory will preserve and preserve.
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| And let this thought illuminate
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| You the trail to the last ferry
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| At the hour when you are asked with things
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| in fact, Charon is on duty,
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| and when it blinds you at first
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| the whiteness of the heavenly choir,
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| You will again feel with your shoulders
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| This is the sky from both sides ...
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| Good night old people... |