Текст песни Павел Лавриненко - Моё ремесло, оно чуждо земли

My craft, it is alien land
 And the windows of the burning, you do not see them.
 That hands in bandages, splatters line in them,
 As the heartbeat and the blood stream.

 And mourning purely my triumph,
 As the death of the parish and its skills.
 That city was asleep and ceases station
 And less and less light in fragments of mirrors.

 I remember those days of winter,
 Where the road cold and pale lights.
 Where Kiev cold and heart burn,
 And the sun faded and the boy killed.

 Killed consciousness lost peace
 And a string of nightmares with me.
 And the light globe and the area is empty,
 And the voice is lost and get cool wind.
                        08.07.2011

© Copyright: Paul Lavrinenko 2011
 Certificate publication №11107270472