It just whistled and has landed in the mash.
Ate a little and went sleeping in the ash
Of murdered poems, there is nothing I can lose.
World feels smaller. Bro, I need a hug from you.
Evil spirits! Bro, it's time to step on it.
Death in minutes, but the burned ones wouldn't be missed.
In the open, angels-knapweeds are in bloom.
We breath freely, with no soot, without gloom.
In the heavens, 'met by Sáshka and Ilyá.
Bread's in plenty, and a hundred from the glass.
No more crying, feel no shame and no regrets.
When it's drying, blizzards are a bliss we get.
We will tell you all of sunrise and sunset,
Of the soot hills and the bitter marmalade,
Which we finished, when our war came to an end,
Of us captured by our own Motherland.
It just whistled and has landed in the mash.
Ate a little and rolled down in the ash
Of murdered poems, there is nothing I can lose.
World feels smaller. Bro, I need a hug from you.