On centuries-old forests - snow in fluffy caps
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Only the future is unsteady now, shaky
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Soon there will be no one to look into the thicket with affection
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White native blood oozes red
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Deceived by the enemy, jamb into nonsense
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Very young souls are already eaten by worms
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All the dirt is forced to be respected and praised
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We voluntarily get on our knees without memory
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Earnestly praying that the perlo without interruption,
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And from behind someone will come up and slash on the throat
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Here, Vera will flare up - in the palm of the amulet
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Only a red stream is already splashing on white snow
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The enemy is as cunning as the devil, work without risk
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With this war, even our loved ones ridicule us
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By a roundabout path, in the shade, and the air calmed down
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Let's go to the icy night to die for our own
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Chorus:
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Early in the morning I will go from the monastery to the thunder of battle
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Throw a reproach on the road, look with a contemptuous look
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Holes from bullets and fangs on a tattered tunic
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Under the untrodden snow, I will only be your winner...
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Cursed with curses, poisoned again
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The earth under the gray snow, striped with rails
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The burden is heavy, frost-beaten cassock
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Crucifix - on a capron, and a backpack with ammunition
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We will live forever. |
Fly over gray
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One supreme idea is to die here for the brothers
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Looking at the stars, the road to the rotting distance
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Into the dark thicket, teeming with predatory creatures
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The offensive will come, and the sky will sparkle
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We keep the pressure of the enemy on the approach to the border
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Tearing the flesh with our hands, we die from the stench
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I feel in my veins that we will be buried here...
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We go in detachments, flashing through the forest with glare
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Insidious steps setting the great procession -
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An army of debauchery, led by a base goal...
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Let our blood become deadly poison in their mouths
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Chorus:
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Early in the morning I will go to battle from the monastery
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Throw a reproach on the road, look with a contemptuous look
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Holes from bullets and fangs on a tattered tunic
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Under the untrodden snow, I will only be your winner...
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Death is not terrible, Ratibor! |
Life in captivity is terrible! |