7 Б - He Found A Rock Spit Is A War On The Memory Of The Years | Текст песни

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• 7 Б
• He Found A Rock Spit Is A War On The Memory Of The Years

Pride full of cars,
Golden epaulettes,
From the South blow young wind.
Tearing apart the clouds,
Don't forget, I send from afar,
At home, the mother, and not the last love.
And the sky are running, see, someone's tracks,
It could be me, it could be you,
This may await us, that we can sing their.

Found a scythe against a stone,
There's a war on the memory of the years.
Found a scythe against a stone,
There's a war on the memory of the years.
Found a scythe against a stone,
There's a war on the memory of the years.
Found a scythe against a stone,
There's a war on the memory of the years.

Joy is full feasts,
Unearthly bows,
Stand up, drink up, and for all shut up.
Month semi world reeling,
Language, legs are wobbling
Remember, say to his brother, the right words.
And the sky are running, see, somebody's traces
It could be me, it could be you,
This may await us, that we can sing their.

Found a scythe against a stone,
There's a war on the memory of the years.
Found a scythe against a stone,
There's a war on the memory of the years.
Found a scythe against a stone,
There's a war on the memory of the years.
Found a scythe against a stone,
There's a war on the memory of the years.

Found a scythe against a stone,
There's a war on the memory of the years.
Found a scythe against a stone,
There is a war...

From the South full of cars,
Golden epaulettes,
Proudly young blow of the wind.

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