Вступительное слово

Across the river, where my home is , nightingales poured loudly ,
Are green meadows and trees on the other side .
Twenty-first hot day of spring I met on the tarmac ,
And column again crawl through the mountains on it.

On the cab painted sprocket paint.
Every hour , every moment of this route normal weight,
Measure it with our blood red Soldiers'
Yes, the number of mines , unexploded under the wheel .

        Gasoline to the eyeballs ,
        verified by the reserve
                         and tehtalon .
        Now one road
        You and I , Serge,
                             hold style.
        Dai, the company commander , hurry us
        Team " Machinery " .
        Distributor does not sparkle ,
        Damn incense fears
        And you want to live -
                      no reason to be afraid .

That's " Afghan " blew out . Dust mixed with sand swallow ,
Before " green stuff " a little bit, well there - whether yes , or not .
And on the other side of my mother accompanies her sister to school ,
And my grandmother watering flowers on the window.

Under warm hand wheel and pedals and trunk underfoot.
And near by country , me spitting bullets in the face.
Would flood it, this dry land, tears
Those who are here have lost their brothers, husbands and fathers.