Майк Бродский - Трезубец
текст песни

Riddles of history, mysticism, secrets
They hang over us like a sword
But they were all just sheets
Scribbled by those who knew where to put
Dash or point, question, exclamation
Any of the accessible punctuation mark
What is the textbook? Let's look through
Half a century - and everything has changed places.
Who was the winner - the usurpator became
The savior suddenly turned out to be a dictator
Give me a scepter - we will take possession of the whole truth
And the clerk for grandmas will write you facts
The book is sewn with an invisible thread
Pages will be filled with a false intrigue
Hitcourse games rule here fate
Don't like the truth? Get in an instant
Down with ... not for you here
History is written by a handful of warrior
That they got up under someone else's banner and banner
Not wanting to watch the bonfire burn
But it's too early for them to go home
Their battle continues in this path
Let nothing fly in the sky yet
But someone hardly raises shells
In the heads, fragile minds
Intrusively thought introducing who the enemy
Skillfully and secretly burning the lighthouse
Leaving only collapse and hiding on the run
In a hurry and you will not find them
Only in the back a bloodied knife
Who cut the card to pieces
And it is unlikely that now you’ll sew the shreds

Step over the crowd with a bunch of presumptions
She will at least be without fault, but guilty
After will they take it, they dashingly wave their trident
So that you again carry a woeful fatum behind yourself
Woeful, woeful, woeful, woeful, woeful fatum
Woeful, woeful, woeful, woeful, woeful fatum
How many more nonsense were there in the world
What will be carried by a woeful fatum?

TV channel? Entertaining still
It is unlikely that at least the word is standing
How much is the use of pseudo -pose for us
Those that arrange an expert gathering
On the ships of our time sinking
People are sitting and calling for help
From the continents they say to them: who are you at all?
Anchor overboard, rot like vegetables.
Who does not agree still fighting
And returns the back of the story
Someone sits back, who is praying
If only the order was in our outskirts
Only the soul does not allow to calm down
There is no time to slowly to trash here
Throw us on forced freemen
Let us get ourselves and split
But again, not the first time
To step on a rake and prepare into battle
A detachment to collect to fight the head
With the one in which all the dislike was invented
Where is it ready for any free of charge
Rebuke to the fight against these shackles
Set aside the illusion of dreams
And defend what is more valuable than all words
And then everything will fall into place
Spring will come on the throat of winter here
In the hearts, the trust is inflamed as an arise
And brother will become a brother conflict
In the meantime, this is only a dream
And the mills will grind in the mills
Telling everyone they say not our fault
Come on: are you not tired yet?

Step over the crowd with a bunch of presumptions
She will at least be without fault, but guilty
After will they take it, they dashingly wave their trident
So that you again carry a woeful fatum behind yourself
Woeful, woeful, woeful, woeful, woeful fatum
Woeful, woeful, woeful, woeful, woeful fatum
How many more nonsense were there in the world
What will be carried by a woeful fatum?