The meaning of the lyrics of the song "Song about a fallen pilot" (Pesnya o pogibschem letchike) the performer of the song "Vladimir Vysotsky"

All through the war, to the brim,

I kept reaching for home,

And though I was full of fire,

I fought with a cool head.

But he was always in a hurry,

One day he didn't duck,

And in the war, back and forth, he turned around.

For two years - a mere trifle,

His pulse has been silent,

Since the spring of '43.

And I plunged into pre-war dreams,

And I look, bewildered,

And breathe heavily:

He was better, kinder,

Kinder, kinder,

But I - I was lucky.

I didn't live a charmed life,

Didn't sip tea with the Lord,

I didn't ask to be sent to the rear,

Nor did I beg fate for mercy.

But women, in silence,

Hinted when they met me:

"If only you had stayed there forever,

Maybe mine would have come back?!"

For me - no mystery,

Their sorrowful question,

Because for me it's also bitter,

That their wish didn't come true.

An answer came to me:

"Forgive me, that I'm alive!

I came back by accident,

Came back, came back,

But yours - he couldn't."

He shouted one last time,

Burning in the plane:

"You live! You'll make it!"

It reached me through the roar.

We flew under God,

Near heaven itself,

He rose a little higher and stayed there,

And I - I made it to the ground.

Met by the dry, airfield runway,

A paradise airfield.

He landed on his belly,

But he didn't crawl on it.

He fell asleep - he didn't wake up,

He began to sing - he didn't finish the song.

So here I am, back,

Look - I'm back,

But he - he didn't make it.

I am eternally and completely,

Guilty before those,

Whom I would be honored,

To meet today.

But though we made it alive,

To the very end,

Memory burns us and conscience torments,

Those who have one.

Someone, sparingly and precisely,

Counted out the hours,

Of our short lives,

Like a concrete runway.

And on it - some crashed,

Some took off forever...

But I landed,

Yes, I landed,

That's the real tragedy...

Дважды Герою Советского Союза

Николаю Скоморохову и его погибшему другу

Всю войну под завязку

Я все к дому тянулся

И хотя горячился

Воевал делово,

Ну а он торопился

Как-то раз не пригнулся

И в войне взад-вперед обернулся

За два года - всего ничего

Не слыхать его пульса

С сорок третьей весны,

Ну а я окунулся

В довоенные сны

И гляжу я дурея

И дышу тяжело:

Он был лучше, добрее

Добрее, добрее,

Ну а мне - повезло

Я за пазухой не жил

Не пил с господом чая

Я ни в тыл не просился

Ни судьбе под подол,

Но мне женщины молча

Намекали, встречая:

Если б ты там навеки остался

Может, мой бы обратно пришел?!

Для меня - не загадка

Их печальный вопрос,

Мне ведь тоже несладко

Что у них не сбылось

Мне ответ подвернулся:

"Извините, что цел!

Я случайно вернулся

Вернулся, вернулся,

Ну а ваш - не сумел"

Он кричал напоследок

В самолете сгорая:

"Ты живи! Ты дотянешь!"

Доносилось сквозь гул

Мы летали под богом

Возле самого рая,

Он поднялся чуть выше и сел там

Ну а я - до земли дотянул

Встретил летчика сухо

Райский аэродром

Он садился на брюхо

Но не ползал на нем

Он уснул - не проснулся

Он запел - не допел

Так что я вот вернулся

Глядите - вернулся,

Ну а он - не успел

Я кругом и навечно

Виноват перед теми

С кем сегодня встречаться

Я почел бы за честь,

Но хотя мы живыми

До конца долетели

Жжет нас память и мучает совесть

У того, у кого она есть

Кто-то скупо и четко

Отсчитал нам часы

Нашей жизни короткой

Как бетон полосы,

И на ней - кто разбился

Кто взлетел навсегда...

Ну а я приземлился

А я приземлился,

Вот какая беда...

In the song "About the Fallen Pilot", Vladimir Vysotsky tackles profound moral and existential themes against the backdrop of World War II. The lyrical hero, a war veteran, is tormented by survivor's guilt. He returned from the front, while his friend, more courageous and selfless, perished.

The hero admits that he wasn't a perfect soldier: "I didn't hide behind others / I didn't drink tea with God". He didn't seek easy ways out or try to avoid danger. However, fate proved more favorable to him than to his friend.

Encountering women who lost husbands and loved ones in the war, the hero senses the weight of their unspoken accusations. Their pain is understandable: if he had died, perhaps their loved ones would still be alive.

The final part of the song takes on a philosophical tone. "Someone sparingly and precisely / Counted out our hours" – life is short and unpredictable, like a runway where some crash and others take off "forever". The lyrical hero landed, but this "landing" brings him no joy, for he carries the burden of another life given for his own.