Текст песни Nonna Mordukova - Ольга

City, tired of the names of the dead heroes
How many rowes should fall?
So that the news shut up and stopped
Show the mountains of severe hands
Alcohol smells empty stops
And blood shouts torn throats
Religion violence draws icons
Its automata turning into laws
On the fingers of the blood of my generations
Traditions of herd and soulless doubt
In the railway boxes hid sorrow
What turns the heart into a poisonous fire
Sometimes it happens here, when the cops are set on fire
Their leaders in rascoats and shoulder hold rites
Die in the morning to wake up alive
To the palms not afraid of birds
Transparent fear opens his mouth
Sound of march people in gas masks
Death spits drum fraction
It is time of burnt landscapes
Cut from photos of people
And kayfa at the bottom of the garbage tanks
Quietly roam souls
When the screens lick the eyes of unarmed children
The last hero always dies !!

Here freedom has become a whore
Heating slavery bed
The words of betrayal and love are so similar

Pale Cold Wall Bodies
Remember the bloody traces
Weak female palms
Night shouts, trying to escape
But, choosing in the morning, sinking
Sunday

She jumps off the roof of summer
Crashing about the stones of winter
And see only newspapers whose pages as usual are empty
I hear the ringing of the curves of mirrors about the bottom of your careless youth
And when the sky dies
That once created us
His shower Million cranes
From smoke cars become corners
Closing eyes
Closing eyes
Windows is wounds
In the corpses of buildings
Through the time
And blood on the leaves of autumn trees
They look at the frozen city
Square to sky
And on the forms of cops
It will freeze quietly crying
Her Red-Yellow Blood

We are no more
We are no more
Olga
Not