Текст песни Музыка против - Возрождаясь из пепла

Is not it? - "Black" color of death and the triumph of color,
And even cold coals will paint palm?
I'm the wind in the tops of trees nashepchet
Such simple words:
"Is it true that in the cooled ashes
Once the fire was dancing? "

And whether it was possible to leave everything as it is? -
In this age to die in the trash - the inheritance of the saints ...
And we pick up fallen flags,
Knocking a bastard pride,
Anarchy us: in the soles of his boots,
What tyrants kicked in the stomach.

Who is sick, and someone can not imagine himself in the battles,
Tired little world falls asleep in his shit ...
But it rises higher and higher
As death burnished flag,
Then, to paint blood on a new war!