Текст песни Голубые береты - Виноват, кто послал туда...

A phone call from heaven to hell ,
Telephone bitterness of war.
Pain from helpless hands off,
Touching words of trouble.
Molten grief tube shouts
Just begging to be answered.
That chills down your spine ,
That enthusiasm is not silent ,
If there are no lists of the dead .

The brain as a marina others hope,
Switch insults and evil.
Not the fault of the tube , not the phone -
To blame the war .
A strange taste of blood on his lips
And someone else's misfortune as their own .
Blame not the one who picks up the phone -
Excuse me, who sent there!

Step by step, block by block off,
But the power of fire order.
Oath we gave it to those
Who absentia really betrayed us .
And forgive me mother, that screams into the phone,
I still do not know the answer:
I would give all my life to answer you :
& quot; the Son in the lists of the dead do not ! & quot;

The brain as a marina others hope,
Switch insults and evil.
Not the fault of the tube , not the phone -
To blame the war .
A strange taste of blood on his lips
And someone else's misfortune as their own .
Blame not the one who picks up the phone -
Excuse me, who sent there!