Four ghosts beyond the reach
of mist, we' ve seen them other days.
The power that gonn' be crashed
upon our curly innocent heads...
I say, i smile, you laugh,
my dear, that you have cried the moon...
I saw, it will, i know you gonn' be shoot,
not spared instead... not spared...
So let it be, let' s go,
oh, just let us to ride!
The horses for me and you and two other friends,
all ready to depart.
The kindred spirits - four ghosts that fall
beyond the rift, we' ll cross the reach of mist.
We are the power, we are the rule that gonn' be crashed
upon the curly heads...
My dear friends, what do they count,
what price have our names?
We are the Sorrow - me, the War - my love,
and tho other you well known friends.
As fiends or minions of great Apocalypse
again we shall be travelers
across the painless world...
Don' t run, mankind,
don' t run.
We are your friends!
Don t run, we are your friends!
© Copyright: Руслан Лях, 2014
Свидетельство о публикации №114050702556
Свидетельство о публикации №114050702556
Рецензии