At the dawn of spring
The air is crisp and blue.
Aged father,
Gray hair moving ,
Said the porch
Son in a quiet voice ,
Accompanying him
First time on the field.
You remember , my son,
Golden words -
Bread around the head ,
Bread around the head .
You remember , my son,
Golden words -
Bread around the head ,
Bread around the head .
Son went poshagal
Upon his father's wake,
But the war began -
Pain fire and lead.
During the troubles and losses ,
Extracting victory
Nes soldier on the ground
Father's will .
You remember , my son,
Golden words -
Bread around the head ,
Bread around the head .
You remember , my son,
Golden words -
Bread around the head ,
Bread around the head .
But disaster struck
On the ground, a strange ,
He was wounded in battle
Cold winter.
His bread ration
He sent another,
A written home
In a triangular letter.
You remember , my son,
Golden words -
Bread around the head ,
Bread around the head .
You remember , my son,
Golden words -
Bread around the head ,
Bread around the head .
At the dawn of spring
The air is crisp and blue.
Strada seed
The roar of engines and noise.
Rodney porch
Son of deceased son
Spoke at the dawn
Her baby ...
You remember , my son,
Golden words -
Bread around the head ,
Bread around the head .
You remember , my son,
Golden words -
Bread around the head ,
Bread around the head .
Bread around the head ,
Bread around the head .