Words - Call sign,
Music, execution - Valery Antonyuk
Cross Debaltsevsky ... Crossroads ... Bridge ...
And in the sight of February nervously pursuer.
Someone bold palm from the ground block post,
And dressed in the fire these streets.
Fight ninth hour, fireworks in hell,
And from all sides of the demons roll.
I promised that I would not leave
And now you have to go.
Town, sorry, we are now alone
I lost you in the clubs.
Here, my friend, Vitya, stepped with armor,
In the icy water of immortality.
I rushed after him, yes where too ...
The sky has become mortars.
Radio scrolls with mat in half -
All back! We leave with "three hundredth".
Not mine now in the sky staircase,
And I clung to the ground with my fingers.
Somewhere there, under a native cross,
My soul is a cross Debaltsevsky.
And then - who is meant,
On rain with iron -
Bleeding lost
Road veins are cut.
Here someone's life, and someone else,
With a memorial cry and water.
Without transit, we were sent to paradise,
On both sides - a straight goal.
And three more days, yes through the fields,
They went forgotten, but everything for evil.
For someone captive for whom the earth
The rest - to the angel under the wing.
We bow to God before the earth -
And alive, and unknown.
They say we didn't seem to be thrown ...
They say everything was honest ...
Breaks the wind my country
And over the sky is split.
I will ask you, bastards, for war,
And for the wounds of this city.
Cross Debaltsevsky ... death ... Mortar ... hail ...
I come there again in a dream.
I will take the tears, fire and hell,
For those who tried to crucify on it ...