Павел Филатов - Память
текст песни

We didn't grow up in the same yard
But life's paths intersect
Sometimes in winter, that silver season
Sometimes in autumn, that golden one
Our friendship has a face
Character, honor, and charisma
Rus' gives birth to people like us
Sons who love their motherland

You can't get enough of the memories of the past
They are all like gray hair on our temples
Amidst the bad and the good for us
Where everything is accounted for in the heavens
Where the mortal is anointed with blood
Where you won't see fear in their eyes
You can't get enough of the memories of the past
They are all like gray hair on our temples

We don't take steps backward
And we don't forgive scoundrels
And we respect the memory of those
Whom we will no longer meet
We were lucky to survive
Amidst the burning nineties
How sad for the departed brothers
Who lie under granite in the cemeteries

You can't get enough of the memories of the past
They are all like gray hair on our temples
Amidst the bad and the good for us
Where everything is accounted for in the heavens
Where the mortal is anointed with blood
Where you won't see fear in their eyes
You can't get enough of the memories of the past
They are all like gray hair on our temples

Volumes of great memories
We slowly turn the pages with our souls
And we remember the names
Of all those who didn't rush to paradise
Who laid down their lives in battles
In that war in the recent past
In our faithful Ural lands
In the years when it was so difficult

You can't get enough of the memories of the past
They are all like gray hair on our temples
Amidst the bad and the good for us
Where everything is accounted for in the heavens
Where the mortal is anointed with blood
Where you won't see fear in their eyes
You can't... You'll breathe in the memory of the past,
All of it, like gray hair on your temples.

Where youth smiled in years gone by,
In photographs in albums,
Where you're with those who are silent now,
Where we are all in a familiar city,
Even if we didn't grow up in the same yard,
But life's paths intersect,
Sometimes in winter, covered in silver,
Sometimes in autumn, golden and bright.

You won't breathe enough of the memory of the past,
All of it, like gray hair on your temples,
Amidst the bad and the good for us,
Where everything is accounted for in the heavens,
Where the mortal is anointed with blood,
Where you won't see fear in their eyes,
You won't breathe enough of the memory of the past,
All of it, like gray hair on your temples.