Текст песни Александр Тарнакин - Через час после смерти

I'll write an hour after the bout
And now I can’t help but ask
Squadrons flee without looking back
Taking the dead to trot

We are already missing in ranks of eight
And the heroes are bored with soldier jargon
And crosses embroider last fall
  On the frayed gold of our epaulettes

I'll write an hour after death
Now I can’t help but call
Envelope funeral wax
There is blood on my face

We do not ask God for damnation
Just dust and hooves and bullet to catch
And crosses embroider last fall
On the frayed gold of our epaulettes