Слова М. В. Исаковского (1945 год).Музыка М. И.Блантера.Исполнение, идея видеоряда Владимира Азязова.Запись аудио и монтаж видео: Анатолий Лобачёв.Enemies burnt his home houseAnd killed all his family.Where has the soldier to go now?Where has he to carry his grief?The soldier came in the crossroad of two roadsIn the condition of some large grief.In a wide field the soldier foundA knob which was overgrown by grass.The soldier is standing and something like clotsSticked in his throat.The soldier said: "Meet me, Praskoviya [1],Meet you husband-hero.Prepare food for the guest,Lay a wide table in a house,I came to you to celebrateMy day, my the holiday of a returning home."Nobody answered to the soldier,Nobody met his.And only a warm summer windRocked the grass over the grave.The soldier sighed, adjusted his belt,Opened his haversackAnd he put a bottle of alcoholOn the grey grave stone."Do not condemn me, Praskoviya,That I came to you such a sad.I wanted to drink for a healthBut I have to drink for a peace.Friends will meet together againBut we shall never do it."And the soldiers drank a half-and-half some wine and griefFrom a copper mug.He, a faithful servant of his people, was drinkingAnd said with pain in his heart:"I went to you for four years.I subdued three countries..."The soldier was becoming tipsy, a tear was rolling down his cheek,The tear of might-have-been hopes.And the medal for capturing of BudapestShined on his bosom.The medal for capturing of Budapest...Remarks:[1] "Praskoviya" is a very rare peasant's woman name.