bograi, bowing with galava, zastamola, bowing with talaba.n the move, a gorse leaf, smelling it in a gulley under a viburnum bush, we can’t rest, run, run, run, our supposed friends are holed up behind a hillock and watching as they beat us, without taking your eyes off, only the long roads are completely for us, and dry your tears, rest a little. i am the russian road, move away, and i will cover you with mud and water, but with your ears in the mud in the water right up to your eyes, after some time the enemies they caught up with us again, even stronger, they are about to kill us, but the severe frosts are rushing to our rescue, move away from the three burning tears, we are russian frosts, we will freeze, we will notice with longing, having remembered moscow, nature in war is like our own mother, but there is there is time to bury, and there is time to attack, we showed up in enemy towns, and began circling everything around, smashed it to smithereens, tore it into pieces, ground it into rubbish and...