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MONOLOGUE OF A PILOT OF A "BLACK TULIP"
(МОНОЛОГ ПИЛОТА "ЧЕРНОГО ТЮЛЬПАНА")
Перевод на английский: Julia
Khodor
Afghani air's
In "black tulip's" care.
With a'glass full of vodka
we silently glide through the skies.
Black bird, the mourner
Over the boarder
To every corner
of Russia is taking the guys.
"Tulip's" sad load--
Forever furloughed,
Boys headed home
to lie in the sweet Russian earth.
Back from assignments
Blown into small bits
Never again
are they going to feel her hand's warmth.
When into the oasises of Jellalabad
Listing to wing we "tulip" lowered,
We hated, all of us, this kind of flying-
Again some kid let down his friends by dying.
In Shindad, and in Bagram, and in Kandahar
Again we load up our plane and our hearts,
Again we're flying heroes, too many
Their graves are dug, though they are only twenty.
Their graves are dug, though they are only twenty.
But we have to make it.
We have to take it.
If we are shaken,
we can be shot from the sky.
Mountains are firing,
"Stingers" are flying.
If we are shaken,
the boys will a second death die.
The flying here's not at all like home
Where there's no war and everything is known,
Where pilots bodies see but once a year,
Where helicopters don't fall from the heavens.
We grind our teeth in anger, but we're flying,
With vodka used to keep our lips from drying.
The caravans still come, they weapons ferry,
And that means "tulip" will have more to carry.
And that means "tulip" will have more to carry.
Afghani air's
In "black tulip's" care.
With a'glass full of vodka
we silently glide through the skies.
Black bird, the mourner
Over the boarder
To every corner
of Russia is taking the guys.
When into the oasises of Jellalabad
Listing to wing we "tulip" lowered,
We hated, all of us, this kind of flying-
Again some kid let down his friends by dying.
In Shindad, and in Bagram, and in Kandakhar
Again we load up our plane and our hearts,
Again we're flying heroes, too many
Their graves are dug, though they are only twenty.
Their graves are dug, though they are only twenty.
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