The crosses aren’t placed at fraternal graves,
And the widows don’t cry upon them.
Here somebody brings the bouquets of flowers
And lights up the eternal flame.

Here once the earth stood up in smoke,
But now - the stones of granite.
Here you won’t find one personal fate,
All fates are poured into one.

And in the eternal flame one sees a bursting tank,
The Russian huts burning.
The burning Smolensk and the burning Reichstag,
The burning heart of a soldier.

There are no widows at fraternal graves -
Here come people who are much stronger.
The crosses aren’t placed at fraternal graves,
But does that make people feel better?..