Tanks Rattled on the Field (На поле танки грохотали)
They'll lift us from beneath the wreckage Remove our bodies from the fray While fire and thunder from the cannons Escort us on our final way
And telegrams will set a-flying To notify our next of kin: Your son will never be returning On leave he won't be stopping in
His mother wails in the corner His father swats a creeping tear His love will never know for certain What fate befell her tanker dear A photo on her shelf will linger Among the yellowed books forlorn In tanker's garment, epaulets on And fiancé