Джино - Круг - текст песни, слова, перевод, видео

From the soulless dungeons to the light. Promising freedom, straining cracking veins, spitting blood, suffocating from the stench and dust that cannot be contained in the throat like lumps. Not a crumb of strength left for the stone, we bark at the fragments of the hall, the shepherds and the wife can hear our breathing. The air of molten magma burns through the stone, if the gods remained in these scorched lands. I will spit on the icons that promised me salvation.

So, those remaining in the field are nothing more than a statistical error, I ask nothing from the heavens, what is mine is mine by right, if you want to dispute it, go ahead, if you want to do it, do it, because the deed doesn't wait, only to convince that the body can, because there is no deed and it is endless. This round dance is just as useless as any dialogue, a stone in one pocket, sweet honey in the other, who will be gifted with what, brother? Well, as luck would have it, they beat you like crazy, the pulse tears the eardrums, the sun is setting in the east. The path is long, who could cross these wastelands and tell me, there are only sand and mirages and traps for hundreds of miles. Yes, you know, the stained glass windows lie, whose patterns are full of life, promising a new life. Everything will be great there, just believe and hold on, and don't even think about changing your mind about carrying your yoke, Valar Morgulis, brother Volard Harris, dear, soon we will throw off the poppy Lord at the peak and the villas, it's generally nice, how children believe. In the towers. Children believe tomorrow, that tomorrow is wonderful. Children believe in the loudest. It's a pity that the voice was broken in drunken tavern arguments, yes, palms clenched into fists, hearing only the phrase "brotherly," like claws and teeth. That's all my tackle.

Plus a sharpened blade in a dusty sleeve, my feet don't feel pain on the glass, as if on grass. These roads are ominous, like something out of the worst nightmare, but I have to extract the game's resources from the chaos. And yes, I'm on a journey to meet my dream. Despite the crowds of those who want to cut me down, having left the catacombs of the spirit, I must remain strong, clenching my teeth. Continuing my life, my pulse beats like an attack, tearing my eardrums. The sun is setting in the east, the path is long; who could cross this wasteland? And tell me, for hundreds of miles there's only sand and mirages, traps and bait. You know, the stained glass windows lie, their patterns full of life, promising a new life. Everything will be great there, just believe, wait and hold on, and don't even think about giving up carrying your burden. And I gathered my last strength, not even trying to look good anymore. They sawed. Denmark was sawed apart by evil saws. The 9th circle is not terrible for those who have passed through the crucible, but I gathered bouquets on the graves. From them I weave wreaths for my loved ones. My muscles and veins are soaked with bitter juice, they infused and pressed us, but we are still alive, and I gathered my last strength, not even trying to look good anymore. They sawed. Denmark was sawed apart by evil and the saw. The 9th circle is not terrible for those who have passed through the crucible, and I gathered bouquets on the graves. From them I weave wreaths for my loved ones. My muscles and veins are soaked with bitter juice, they ate us up and pressed us. But we are still alive.