In Afghanistan, in the "Black tulip" (*)
With vodka in a glass
We are sailing silently above the ground.
Mournful bird across the border
It is Russian ZARNITSA kids home.
In the black tulip those with jobs
They're coming home sweet in the land to lie down,
In an indefinite leave of absence, torn to shreds,
They never, never warm hug the shoulders.

When, in the oases of Jalalabad,
Fallen down on the wing, tulip our fall, We cursed all his work,
Again bacha summed loss company.
In Shindand, Kandahar and Bagram
Again, the per capita put heavy stone
Again, carry home the heroes
Which in twenty years digging graves.
Which in twenty years digging graves.

But you have to get to, it is necessary to gather,
If you break
And then you can run into here.
Mountains shoot Stinger takes off
If you run into,
That boys will die a second time.

And we did not go the way home,
Where there is no war, and all have been familiar,
Where are the bodies they see once a year, pilots,
Where from the clouds do not bring down helicopters.
And we go from the wrath of his teeth,
Dry vodka wetting his lips,
They come from Pakistan caravans
So, there is a job for a tulip.
And then there is a job for a tulip.

In Afghanistan, the black tulip
With vodka in a glass We are sailing silently above the ground.
Mournful bird across the border
To Russian ZARNITSA
Bears our brothers home.

When, in the oases of Jalalabad,
Fallen down on the wing, tulip our fall,
We cursed all his work,
Again bacha summed loss company.
In Shindand, Kandahar and Bagram
Again, the per capita put heavy stone
Again, carry home the heroes
Which in twenty years digging graves. Again, carry home the heroes
Which in twenty years digging graves.

(*) Military cargo aircraft transporting back home coffinns with shot down soldiers.