On a rusty wind (BG)
On Madagascar is the season of bad roads and an impassable road
In the Gobi Desert is rain the fourth consecutive year.
Not want to believe, but as can be not to believe,
When they say?
They say we've been driven into the pit
And we ask mercy to our marquee,
And are singing with the dead on a rusty wind.
We were rushing into battle, we loved to take the barriers,
We were seeing the target that burning in the distance,
And we were demanding from the sky the stars in reward,
And we were taking the enjoyments from the earth.
But parachute slings turned out cut off,
Even the sun was stolen in the morning,
Only circular paths remained
A thread to a thread from the world – and all is sewn and all is hidden
Dive bar is closed, our narrative is ended,
They go away also worthlessly as they come,
Leaving only the dry dust in the mouth,
These songs are not needed to nature –
Songs with the dead on a rusty wind, songs with the dead on a rusty wind,
Songs with the dead on a rusty wind.
On Madagascar is the season of bad roads and an impassable road
In the Gobi Desert is rain the fourth consecutive year.
Not want to believe, but as can be not to believe,
When they say?
They say we've been driven into the pit
And we ask mercy to our marquee,
And are singing with the dead on a rusty wind.
We were rushing into battle, we loved to take the barriers,
We were seeing the target that burning in the distance,
And we were demanding from the sky the stars in reward,
And we were taking the enjoyments from the earth.
But parachute slings turned out cut off,
Even the sun was stolen in the morning,
Only circular paths remained
A thread to a thread from the world – and all is sewn and all is hidden
Dive bar is closed, our narrative is ended,
They go away also worthlessly as they come,
Leaving only the dry dust in the mouth,
These songs are not needed to nature –
Songs with the dead on a rusty wind, songs with the dead on a rusty wind,
Songs with the dead on a rusty wind.