Текст песни ГрОб - Про зёрна, факел и песок

The breeze will angrily slam shut.
Grains feel like sand is like a stone.
Forever under the moon, closely under the shirt.
The hard way home through the clouds.

Red snow will again become poison.
Blood will turn into honey in the spring.
Summer in the sleeve, moisture in the mitten.
Hot way home through the cold.

Having breathed deeply of smoky bread,
Drive a torch alive into the sky.
Through red-hot ice, through pitch midday.
Long way home through the skies.