Henry Lion Oldie, Бронислава Громова - Ересь
текст песни

The mysterious wisdom of the ancient tablets,
How happy are those that avoided her.

The soul of man is immortal from the century -
But the body-kalek is dying of old age,

Suffering from ailment, tormenting his misfortunes.
Alas, this is an inevitable fate

Souls that changing the bodies like clothes,
Walks on the way from hope to hope,

From death to birth, from laughter to sobbing,
From heaven to hell, from happiness to suffering.

Road, road, road, road,
The eternal destiny of man is not God.

After all, those who have tasted amrita good,
Bodies with death are no longer trading,

For the flesh of their decay, you will not find it forever -
Envy them, human ants!

The body of the immortal fate has different:
It does not sweat, does not sleep, does not blink,

Does not know pain, does not know the old,
Worthy to be called the top of the creation,

Forever familiar with plague and steam -
But the surah paid for that,

And the souls of the gods, being a facet,
Prone to old age and peace.

Decrepit for centuries, old and wretched
The soul of an almighty, eternal god -

Becomes dust, becomes ashes,
Encouraged before the death of a sincere fear.

Dry foliage that fell from the trees,
The terrible shower of the cloth is crumbled,

It will die today that it rustles yesterday -
And the immortal body will become soulless.

Oh sorrow and suffering, O eternal flour! -
If gray boredom will settle in Sura,

Combining, love, love and battles, get bored
Gets bored with peace and bore the movement,

The eyes of a thunderstorm does not flare up
And the body will become a dead soul!

About the mountains, answer, about the winds, say:
Where did the other celestial go?

No cry, no moan, no word, no sound -
Only boredom, only boredom, only gray boredom ...

But occasionally the wind gust is wild
Bends the breath of the end of the Navy:

"" We lived for centuries, we were gods,
Now we froze under your feet,

We were made of bronze, made of copper, of steel -
Oh no, we are not dead ... We are just tired.

It’s not time for us a mighty Buran
To cling, as before, to the brothens and temples,

Both to foamed wounds, and to the dying countries,
And to the rams stupidly going to the massacre?!

We lived for centuries, we were gods -
But there is no water between the two shores "".

About knowledge of the dark age of golden! -
Truly the sighted miserable blind ...

The base changed, the name changed,
One on the throne was replaced by two

The lords changed, like a service in the temple, -
And the swastika signed the sign over the worlds.

There were four of them, but there were eight of them -
Whose souls were threatened by cold autumn,

Who set his shoulders under the severity of the shrine,
Not knowing what he is supported from now on.

Assigned like this at dawn of the creature:
There is tapas and tedzas, there is heat and burning,

There is a gift of asceticism and heart fiery -
The latter was supported by the essence of the world -cream.

When the mental flour comes up,
When boredom settles in the Lokapal,

That mortal whose spirit was inflated, flame,
Whose heart of the impact of Perun is stronger

Leaving the earthly road forever,
Will give his soul to the tired God -

So that this fiery, so that it is a burning,
Interfered with the souls of the world -cream with an elder

So that the honor does not melt, so that the conscience does not blind,
So that the phenix of courage rises from the ashes,

So that generosity gave, so that joy appeared ...
Alien burning became!

So the world -bearer with the fate of the big
He treated his soul with someone else's soul

And the core is patient again - sore -
Not knowing, not knowing, not knowing, not knowing ...