Текст песни Мыслей странных - Прости, Родная

When the last bird falls to the ground, ignorant wake up,
driven by a thirst for life.
A gentle breeze will lament of loss,
who will turn the ashes in our hands.

I want to look into your tired eyes that tell them?
Fear me - I'm your stumbling block.

Applause, hooks instead of hands, behind the scenes warrior sun,
He resurrects the remnants of conscience.
No more, no more, no more mental pain,
But usurpers take away everything else themselves.

What is the difference when she observes with a smile for the outrage;
And waiting for just one moment, to repay in full,
Avenge himself.
I'm sorry, forgive Native, but I have to be among them.

Forced to be one of them.