This is the amazing Kseniya Simonova appearing on a Ukranian talent show (of all places). The songs appear to be very closely related to her story and are mostly Russian as far as I can tell (maybe others can be more decisive).
(1) Metallica's "Nothing Else Matters"
(played by Apocalyptica, the scandinavian Cello quartet, maybe)
(2) Sacred War (Napoleon’s Russian invasion)
Rise up, huge country,
Rise up for a mortal fight!
With the dark fascist force,
With the damned horde.
Let noble fury
Boil up like a wave
A people's war is going on,
A sacred war!
We'll give repulse to oppressors
Of all fervent ideas,
Tormenters of people.
Black wings don't dare
To fly over the homeland,
Her vast fields
The enemy doesn't dare to trample.
To the rotten fascist scum
We'll drive a bullet into the forehead,
For the rabble of humanity
We'll knock together a solid casket!
(3) Dark Night
(translated by Alisa In WonderWords)
Dark night, only bullets
are whistling across the prairie,
Only the wind is humming along the wires,
And the stars are blinking dimly.
On this dark night I know you are not asleep, my love,
You are by the crib, wiping a tear.
How I love the depth of you sweet eyes,
How I wish I could press my lips against them.
Dark night is dividing us, my love,
And the troubled black prairie lay between us.
My faith is in you, my dear friend,
This faith has kept the bullet away on a dark night.
I am happy and calm in a mortal fight,
Since I know you will greet me with love, no matter what.
Death doesn't scare me, we faced it in the prairie before,
Here it is, hovering above me right now.
You are waiting for me, sleepless by the crib,
And that is why I know that I am safe from harm.
(Words by Rasul Gamzatov. Translation of Andrey)
It sometimes seemed to me that the soldiers,
Who didn’t return from bloody fields,
Didn’t lie down into our ground
But turned into white cranes.
And they are flying and are screaming their voices to us now
And they do it from that old time.
May be it is the reason why we often stop talking ruefully
When we look in sky.
The weary wedge of cranes is flying in sky,
It flies in the end of the day.
And there is a small interval inside this wedge
May be, it is a place for me.
May be, it will be a day and I shall fly
With the flock of cranes in the same blue sky
And I shall call everyone, whose I left in a ground,
From the sky by on the language of birds.