Текст песни 10.ION - Девятого числа

Introduction.
There they are! Fire! Grenade launchers, fire, do not leave the position, stand to the end ...!
-Fighter, keep the left sector ...
-There is a Comrade Major!
-Captain, to the mortar, hit to the right, closer to the river ...
-There is a mortar ...!
-Fighter, you are at the very front line, hold on, son, good luck ... Company to battle!

Verse.
Hello grandfather, I pull the hip, I write letters with tears.
Tell me grandfather, how to survive here without feeding the birds?
The sky is mother-of-pearl today, on a loud morning.
Our company is being stormed, grandfather, we are breaking the face of fear.
I was shot in the groin and spit of a large tubular bone.
My commander gave the order to leave, to fight in the rear!
An eyebrow will not flinch, I am deaf, they aim at the heads of the net.
The phalanges of the fingers will not let go of the cold steel.
I thought for a moment, rubbing ointment into the holes.
After all, we will die here, and the thought of victory is a fantasy.
Shells rumble near the positions of our brothers.
Lead enemies, they leave rags from us.
Grandfather tell me what is the purpose of our mission?
Shut your mouth soldier, shoot, rip throats, be scary for them!
Be a horror for them, be a pride for us, It's simple!
For your own, for everything! For everything! Do you hear? That's the task!
The company will click the bolts, the clang will sound like a song ..
You can't see the living here, all who stayed behind!
People died during their lifetime, leaving blood stains.
On withered foliage, blossoming, scarlet days of war.
Two seconds of calm, dragging on for years in seconds.
Young grandfathers in whose eyes years have been shed.
A cocktail of pain from tears and blood, the earth drinks without getting drunk.
At these moments I know that my mother is desperately needed.
Wake up without falling asleep, stabbing a bullet in the sternum.
To love life without dying, to remain alive as a son.
And damp, painful, wet, hungry, cold, beautiful!
Night showered the sky with points, points of war.
In memorylessness, in pits of dreams covered with moss.
The old man greets me again with his right hand.
Son, your war keeps the number nine under your heart.
And year after year it will become useless to anyone.
I felt sick, the figures grew, the circle closed.
Machine guns spoke persistently,
The sun appeared on the horizon, a shiver on the skin.
Today we don't die means we live on!
And so I want to burst into tears, shooting in their heads ...
We are victims of the drunken age, their genderless division.
I wiped the sweat from my forehead, sweat flowed profusely.
I was mistaken, the body pulls down the shot forehead.

Chorus.
The soldier stood to the end, to the last bullet.
The sunset took his soul away, cutting off the defenses.
From above I saw something different, but not a war.
There, the mothers of the dead sons greeted victory.