ВРАГИ СОЖГЛИ РОДНУЮ ХАТУ (исп.Владимир Азязов)
Слова М. В. Исаковского (1945 год).
Музыка М. И.Блантера.
Исполнение, идея видеоряда Владимира Азязова.
Запись аудио и монтаж видео: Анатолий Лобачёв.
Enemies burnt his home house
And killed all his family.
Where has the soldier to go now?
Where has he to carry his grief?
The soldier came in the crossroad of two roads
In the condition of some large grief.
In a wide field the soldier found
A knob which was overgrown by grass.
The soldier is standing and something like clots
Sticked in his throat.
The soldier said: "Meet me, Praskoviya ,
Meet you husband-hero.
Prepare food for the guest,
Lay a wide table in a house,
I came to you to celebrate
My day, my the holiday of a returning home."
Nobody answered to the soldier,
Nobody met his.
And only a warm summer wind
Rocked the grass over the grave.
The soldier sighed, adjusted his belt,
Opened his haversack
And he put a bottle of alcohol
On the grey grave stone.
"Do not condemn me, Praskoviya,
That I came to you such a sad.
I wanted to drink for a health
But I have to drink for a peace.
Friends will meet together again
But we shall never do it."
And the soldiers drank a half-and-half some wine and grief
From a copper mug.
He, a faithful servant of his people, was drinking
And said with pain in his heart:
"I went to you for four years.
I subdued three countries..."
The soldier was becoming tipsy, a tear was rolling down his cheek,
The tear of might-have-been hopes.
And the medal for capturing of Budapest
Shined on his bosom.
The medal for capturing of Budapest...
 "Praskoviya" is a very rare peasant's woman name.
Длительность материала: 00:03:52
Автор: Азязов Владимир