Текст песни Majdanek Waltz - Всех усопших

All the mustes


The day leaves, comes evening.
Star burns at night height.
Grass pegs. And all the expensive
At dusk are reduced to one.

Many travelers already for pass.
Shadows are visible away.
They carry on the shaky poles
Long torches, fusing flames.

Walls. Graves. Rare trees.
Gate, in them a saddled laurel.
Many people will be brought through the crosses,
Covering lights from rainy morosi.

Forest bazhreta was yelling like a finger.
When the clouds are mortal
It hangs the evening. From this
Closer proximity and further distance.

But the wind is eternal and unusual.
On dark fields, from autumn Burym,
He flog draws dark images
And quickly whispers dark words.


Author - Georg Game