М. Светлов - Итальянец
текст песни

Black cross on the chest of Italian,
No thread, no pattern, no gloss,-
The poor family is stored
And the only son wearable ...

A young native of Naples!
What did you leave in Russia on the field?
Why couldn't you be happy
Over the native Italian bay?

I, who killed you under Mozdok,
So dreamed of a distant volcano!
How I dreamed of Volzhsky Provisional
At least once to ride in a gondola!

But I didn't come with a gun
Removing the Italian summer,
But my bullets did not whistle
Above the sacred land of Raphael!

Here I shot! Here, where he was born,
Where he was proud of himself and friends,
Where are the epics about our peoples
Never sound in translations.

Is the average of the Middle Don
Have you studied foreign scientists?
Our land is Russia, the race -
Did you plow and sowed?

No! You were brought in a train
To capture distant colonies,
To make a cross from a casket from a family
Grown to the size of the grave ...

I will not let my homeland take my homeland
For the expanse of foreign seas!
I shoot - and there is no justice
More fair than my bullets!

You have never been here and did not live! ..
But scattered in snowy fields
Italian blue sky,
Glazed in dead eyes ...
1943