I speak myself - the battle is not over, even when everything is lost.
When it seems - the world is de-energized, and in the area one crow.
When dark thoughts and malice harness the remnants of faith in people.
My weapon is the experience and word, my baggage is a cemetery of days.
I'm talking to myself - the battle is not over, again slipping viscous blood,
I always leave three points - be love it, be dislike.
I will forgive, but do not pumped up the closer those who devoted the trust.
I climb or fall below - then humus, then primrose ...
Chorus [x2]:
We still wake, show! Will march swan song.
We are friends separating from the hosts - heat fire and cold revenge.
For lovers of muddy porridge, we have a serious news:
This world will not be yours, never - while we are here!
[Coupling 2, Rustaveli]:
I do not care about them - I see a lie around.
In the screens, thick bastards in the jackets decide who my friend
Who am the enemy and in their eyes I see a terrible court fear,
Four rhetoric their mouths - essentially dirt!
Tv everything also puts a mass parter
Removing the cashier on the ugliness and madness of the poorest lower classes,
I look out the window and see hatred, stupidity, impotence,
In the screens of smarts of children - all versions of violence.
Tell me where we go? What to count for the norm
In this world, the wretched, in lies hung,
Where oppressed becomes good and honor,
Where the scoundrels are not reading; And as if
In Tartarara - the whole world rolled!
But there are still worthy, and let their little -
They will eat with a deduction of your false fighter.
Your throne is not durable, the flag will be torn and the price
While we are alive, remember - the battle is not over!
Chorus [x2]:
We still wake, show! Will march swan song.
We are friends separating from the hosts - heat fire and cold revenge.
For lovers of muddy porridge, we have a serious news:
This world will not be yours, never - while we are here!
