С.Т.А.Я. - Миллионы судеб - текст песни, слова, перевод, видео

I remember the first gyms in basements...

Strictly in the spirit of the 90s, and the Soviet Union after its collapse.

Money was often scarce, only I believed in my own strength.

The TV broadcast the first casualties in Chechnya...

Rumors of a redistribution of spheres of influence across the state,

"Slow" filled the cities – drug dealers were being shot...

In Grozny, they lost boys, warriors became immortal...

We didn't understand then – life and oil are equivalent!

We didn't seek death, but there was no fear in our eyes,

Hardship taught us to achieve victory!

A trace remains in my memory – the first time I stepped onto the mat,

A similar path shared by many, training became life!

This isn't just one example – millions of lives are all around,

Some were on the brink, some will definitely be there.

Friend or foe, saint or thief –

Each will have their sentence at the end of their hour.

It's like a minor key of souls on the ruins of a country,

The future of the young was lost in prisons and war,

The pain of ordinary people, like hot air -

It all remains somewhere in the fog of the 90s.

Some were in prison, in denial, some just criminals...

November, I remember returning home in slippers,

With a broken skull - an axe to the head,

To the breach, glasses of vodka on the graves of those not in the game.

Sin, they practiced karate in church,

Fur hats, nines, two-finger chains.

Guns cocked, but not everything was decided by the strength of the arms,

The local gangsters against the spades, who closed the circle.

Fire in the eyes, brother for brother, concepts are valuable,

And those who drove without restraint - smoldered alive in the fire. It's shameful to be a huckster, it's a disgrace to touch the downtrodden,

they took communion... So that their sins might be forgiven...

This isn't just one example – millions of destinies all around,

Some were on the brink, some will definitely be there.

Friend or foe, saint or thief –

Each will meet their sentence at the end of their hour.

It's like a minor key of souls on the ruins of a country,

The future of the young was lost in prisons and war,

The pain of ordinary people, like hot air –

It all remains somewhere in the fog of the 90s.

She stood on the side of the road, in one of the profitable spots,

Sometimes, instead of money, they slap you...

Torn tights, a black eye, back into the night,

In the morning, daughters greet their mother with questions...

It's difficult, scary, hungry, shameful,

Unemployment punishes both engineers and rednecks. Someone lived through it—it all passed like a terrible dream,

And she was warmed by the snow on a frosty March day.

Her husband left for war, but returned on the "200th."

Her mother was looking for money to feed her beauties,

She went downhill for the sake of those she loved...

How much time was allotted to her—fate decided...

This isn't just one example—millions of destinies all around,

Some were on the brink, some will definitely be there.

Friend or foe, saint or thief—

Each will have their sentence at the end of their hour.

It's like a minor key of souls on the ruins of a country,

The future of the young was lost in prisons and war,

The pain of ordinary people, like scorching air—

It all remained there in the fog of the 90s.