Текст песни World Games - Песня для поднятия боевого духа

Only you feel rage,
Do not rush verb muck
Do not you feel the sweetness of spoken words
And let minor threat
Do not give the soul frost
Just as unhappiness thunderstorms
Do not find a soul angles.

As a child I was constantly beaten,
Opponents lurking in the corners only,
The whole team hoarded kills me,
Boasting its possession AWP.
And I burned with their family house,
And the ashes scattered over the stimulus,
Since then, their voices
Sound in my head.

It is always balanced,
In the heated debate pitiful pawns
And in the mind without speshok Napa,
This song to me.
And will the devastation
In their hearts is your decision,
Being a cultural and quiet,
In the dense layer of expletives.