Текст песни Андрей Забровский - До ссоры, до крика

Before the quarrel, to a shout,
Prior to the fight, to drama,
Until the smell of burnt bodies and tow
Before bed to the morgue
Prior to the pit, I'll be anxious doubt,
Is not it?

Before clanging shovels,
Before shouting "Oh my God"
Compassionate to tears,
To the roof and up the dust,
Up to heaven, you never know, and to hell, perhaps
I'm on the verge of collapse and flood

On the verge of fraud, to the point of shamelessness
On the verge of lying and grandeur on the edge,
On the verge of finally completely asleep,
 On the verge of the philosopher's stone cut

On the verge of the verge of love and vice,
Where undead heart beat more often
Damned faces
 I'll be forty
On the verge of sitting cross

And the thing that lazy crematorium
I'm not one who bore the battle,
Last sorrow thy iniquities
I'm Russian, I will be with thee