Наглый перепост
Оригинал взят у steppentiger в Na pole tanki grokhotali
Нашел вот в своих запасниках очередной шедевр лингвотворчества. Как говорится, переводчик прозы раб, переводчик стихов - соперник, а переводчик песен - киркоров.
The tanks were crashing just like thunder.
There were a lot of soldiers dead,
And they were carrying young commander,
Who had a hole in his head.
Our tank is damaged by a round.
Say "Farewell" to our crew.
And four dead bodies on the ground
Will supplement the morning view.
Our ammunition is about
To blaze up and to detonate,
And we all try to scramble out
But it's too hard and it's too late.
They'll take us out of heap of metal,
They'll lift up heavy skeleton,
And drops of blood will fall on petal,
And guns will say that we are gone.
And telegrams will fly like pigeon,
And all the wires our parents get
Will say that guys from our region
Will never come again - you bet!
Old mother surely will be crying,
Old dad will flick his tear with hand,
And fellow's promised will be trying
To learn some more about his end.
His card will stand on shelf in corner
In old dust-laden empty room.
His shoulder-straps have lost their owner,
And he will never be her groom.
Нашел вот в своих запасниках очередной шедевр лингвотворчества. Как говорится, переводчик прозы раб, переводчик стихов - соперник, а переводчик песен - киркоров.
The tanks were crashing just like thunder.
There were a lot of soldiers dead,
And they were carrying young commander,
Who had a hole in his head.
Our tank is damaged by a round.
Say "Farewell" to our crew.
And four dead bodies on the ground
Will supplement the morning view.
Our ammunition is about
To blaze up and to detonate,
And we all try to scramble out
But it's too hard and it's too late.
They'll take us out of heap of metal,
They'll lift up heavy skeleton,
And drops of blood will fall on petal,
And guns will say that we are gone.
And telegrams will fly like pigeon,
And all the wires our parents get
Will say that guys from our region
Will never come again - you bet!
Old mother surely will be crying,
Old dad will flick his tear with hand,
And fellow's promised will be trying
To learn some more about his end.
His card will stand on shelf in corner
In old dust-laden empty room.
His shoulder-straps have lost their owner,
And he will never be her groom.