Рем Ди - На Юг
текст песни

My fire is not ground, he is inside. With him in darkness I go, full of them. There is ahead, where the Terrible view is. Thick, patients with IV crowns stretch into the sky. My path is far away, in that step of evil and sullen path. My rap is a gift, and his best darkness was hurt. Sel, waiting for a fist over his head. We all sign. I am no will, dissatisfied with Sukin Son. On the battlefield, I skip hooks into soup. Pretty hurt, who was the scared of you ??? But I am Pru, like a bull, and they rod like fairies. In the fields in boots, past nif and min. We are - they, Tir one. Sifted in a hole, the world flies. I take a shield and sword, I want to live and be. The caravan goes out in darkness, there are black-black, horror, horror, darkness. There, the rivers of dead fish, fallen birds who fell nat. But I'll be back - know, a pair of discord, like ivy, how to spruit. If you turn, they will not understand me. Native do not burn, do not forget. Yeah, there I could dissolve in smoke. Going a caravan to the south, goes into the darkness, everyone took her dream so that she was racing there in hell. But my pain is a forgotten sleep, leased in the cartridge cartridge. Who bit at my house will be buried in it. Going a caravan to the south, where the covers are given from the tree, as a gift. Where, the demons in the war are fighting there. Hot dlooms in a tank. To beat and beat is my instinct, if the world is like ring, if he is in the blood. Behind my house, there my angel sleeps, opened the mouth on them? Not a question, catch! Going a caravan to the south, early in the morning. In my hands I hold love, silent. I just do not breathe. I touch the strands of the burning hand. I just iron it best. But the demons saw here behind the river. And again they collect men. Going a caravan to the south, packed until you can not shovel. Lead tears are etched on the pulse. Tears are completely different taste. I am going to the way as everything. With him, I am five minutes, like sat down. And I keep in your hands, waiting for dawn. The fragments of the past come to me. In the meadows of green in the grass. I kissed my knees, burned. Free, like the wind from these steppes. Oh, if I knew about a bitch war. What the native fields will be ski. You shine, see the Niva burn. But I swear to you. Who stepped with a sword native here. He did it in vain. It goes a caravan to the south, the horizon was flooded with blood. The smell of sweat, there is a porch, sailed, smell of burning cannabis. Dirty paws climb into my house. Unceremonious nasty gandon. Time to show fangs. Who is the Pap-queen here, who Don. Cover halfdes, blends all. Small success. But we are unnecessary load of two. Next, the way to the forest. Demons somewhere there, behind the river. Views do not catch under the visor. Caravan came to life? Native land bow. Who am I without these fields? Well, who I am without these fields, tell me. Stones, those in fire and me only burn. Who without these hair? Who without these are my hands, relatives to me ??? For their life, ready to die. My homeland, native, good earth. My homeland, one you are. Motherland, terpi! Motherland. My homeland, one you are ...