Singer: Alex Mats

Through the binoculars I clearly saw the walls of the ancient Kremlin
But I didn't know that Moscow is not the end of the earth.
Say, by all appearances, she end no,
Where to beat such a force, even though the fight for another hundred years.

Don't shoot me, don't cry, Vanya, Russian friend.
Don't shoot me, don't! Who knew you were so cool!
Who knew, Tmutarakani meet us such a hero.
Cursed be the man that brought me to you.

We're mad, mad! Yes who would doubt...
We're obsessed with this war.
There are only five minutes will last
And tears running down unshaven cheek.
On the far flank, sweeping away barriers
Rolled steel avalanche forward
Those three fresh battalion.
We will provide them maneuver and bypass!

I know it's only a delay.
I remember that no one lives forever
We are here in defence-a reference point
And that means that the enemy will not pass through us.
Howl motors hellish menagerie
But no, the Lord did not end the fight!
As long as survived the last
At least one, but live St. John's WORT!

The sight does not fit all gray mass,
Oh My God! How many of you bastards here!
But a hundred and fifty millimeters of mine
Erected in iron, gentle redoubt.
In the open air yelling, "That's crazy, do not delay give us this range!"
But here we sustinem iron wall,
The wall on the last edge!
Only bold is accompanied by the aunt-good luck,
I know a naughty woman she
But the slaughter who is
Now in full mouth smiled at fate!

We keep the gorge we were little-a lot of them,
Reinforcements will not call do not call.
Hope is, perhaps, to God,
Yes, the correct angle of slope of the armor.
The map staff scrawled arrows
Someone where to stand, and something to die for.
But in this crazy crazy shooting
We believe that we will not be able to defeat the enemy.
From the headquarters of the messenger: "Like, all the medals, But just hold on, not one step back!"
- It is not necessary to treat, is not seen to work so, do not winning!


Alex Metabolizatia

Half a mile of fire and death.
Grey small envelopes, scatter funerals.
Sadness sadness increase, but the order set rate.
Someone is praying in secret, some silently gritted his teeth,
Someone remembered someone's mother.

Ahead of the cut clean, we are almost extras.
And at the far edge of the field, the enemy is buried in the bushes.
And from there self-propelled guns, hit us point-blank range.
And on the flank not to go round, and on a field half a mile.
There is a signal for the onset, things will be in motion.
Like it or not, and the village before sunset, you need to take.
The stench of a Solarium, the roar of trucks, crews from the penal battalion.
We only hurry, of polistyle to disrupt.

The crew uneven breathing, our driver writes a poem.
Left-right everything you can out of the engine.
I yell as scatty, but with the disc armor.
We are in the last moment, separated by two inches.
The fun begins, will the Germans not to laugh.
The tower to the right, shot, speck. Here's another one ready.
We had each other's back, and one know.
We protect the Fatherland, not for the sake of awards.

You are not touching, for thee I trace,
in the littered ashes on the snow-covered,
On the painted Windows, the overgrown mounds,
You in the eyes with the truth, I with a knife and a revolver.
So run a brush through my mind, heal my wounds,
Sharoni, so far away.
Where I will not get to where you can't catch me,
Where I don't know where the original is.
Where the devil don't know.
Someone in a black us plays the trumpet...
You're a sister to me, Yes, but am I your brother?

Run a brush through my mind, heal my wounds,
Icy hands, but water from the tap,
Put honey Mead, wait for the gifts to guests
Rest in mother raw, put my bones.

What's next with us will be
The lot behind the crisis crisis...
In the Russian righteous mist
Waiting for a bad surprise...
Is not the order of the old
In the hands of a trump suit.
Oh now we nothing
Guts is not an abyss.
And the sky rolls with thunder pure truth chant,
Who misses the world faces who suddenly ostochertelo.

Oh, how terrible howling devils.
Without Jude, moles and rats.
Where our favorite comic
King pea Boris.
Where humble plebeians
Always drunk in umat.
Where pocket villains
Where manual the electorate
Who with the force, truth mother match.
Gave the team a choir in full throat the power to shout.

No respect for the Bundestag and the Queen is not a decree
Not honored overseas chocolate ***as.
Now that the parade rules and beats the brow of fate,
Who on the entire planet fry Russian rock on the gas pipe.