Дорога

English translation

I remember the day I went to war. He went to collect things in the empty city to go home.

An agent was waiting for me at the base, he met me like a family member.

After a few minutes, everything died inside. When they brought Kofi's body in a pickup truck, he fell asleep.

There is nothing to say. Vilkhovka took away the best, and we are nailing it.

It's not in the movies, bro, for real, for real. We eat as our ancestors fought.

And you, please, tell me about those cardboard boxes, where the dead are lying. They can never be taken away.

Your heroism ended like beer near the house. I'm just, brother, shouting into the abyss.

When I look at Khokhlov, I seem to lose faith.

The flower of the nation is all dead, but every soldier has a Bradley outside. I saw it on the news.

Everywhere the thick forest, across the father into hell, the son climbed, where the commander hid his eyes behind the curtain. Some of them shouted: "Be sure to come back!

" And there himself: "You better not be sad. Kill your son, and come back alive.

There will be positions, salary, pleasure, life." My country, how much pain and tears have been shed for you.

We will carry this burden for as long as it takes. We will always be in hell.

The assault is planned across the field. Pups and all the squints. It comes out on the chest, it falls to you.

Posthumous honors of his family. Why all this to me?

I saw how tears flowed from men who, like lions, fought to the last strength. In the circle of the best, we fly even to hell.

Look for me only when the smoke clears in the landing. And while I'm out of touch, I hope I'll make it out alive.

Maybe damaged, but whole. Respect to all who did not leave the forest alive.

My message is directed to these terms. The worthy son raised his weapon. A friend was buried in the coffin.

And it seems that my life followed him. In the circle of the best, we fly even to hell.

Look for me only when the smoke clears in the landing.

And while I'm out of touch, I hope I'll come out alive, maybe damaged, but whole.

Or oncoming lanes.

The road is better than all.

Friends became brothers.

And crying turns into laughter.

Or oncoming lanes.

The road is better than all.

Friends became brothers.

- And crying turns into laughter.

-How the old wounds became sore when you stopped praying. Soul and body lay on the scales.

Someone rearranged the Star of David and ordered to be silent. And I have something to say. We are moving forward with Hetman.

Thank you for the compromises. If there is an order, I have to start executing it.

If the state ordered, is it rude to doubt? The unbreakable stormtrooper smiled.

You can't buy the idea, but you can play along. Who cannot be tamed, put behind bars.

Everything is real here: both bullets and grenades. Only the deadlines of the deputies are unrealistic.

It seems that there are cases, but no one saw them, because they were turning it like a dog, because the people are dumb, but they pray, but further, because whose house is in the center, the better. And whose house on the edge is forgotten and in ruins.

The bodies are lying in the thickets, on the opposite side, fortunately.

Someone does not owe anything to the state, does not feel guilty. He is such a person, a breed of animal.

I dream of a single nation where no mother has lost a son, snow does not melt under tears, flowers do not lie at my feet and flowers do not lie at my feet.

We walked through fogs, through thorns and doubts too.

They were looking for trust in a world with a lot of limitations. But in joint fierce battles, the limit disappears.

Friends become brothers, and there is no knife in the souls.

The evenings were lived as if it were the last sip, sewing together a strong knot in memory.

The past burns, leaving a painful trace, and only crying here regenerates laughter.

They went forward, where the horizon burns with gold, to squeeze the most out of the days and cars, while there is fuel in the veins and adrenaline in the heart, leaving yesterday's pain like dispersed smoke.

My brothers did not die, but changed their routes.

We carry their names on our shoulders, this sweet and bitter poison.

And the white stars of retribution will shine on our path, and the enemy will crumble into dust and dust. We will not go, we will stand until mokshanas disappear in the ages.

Or oncoming lanes.

The road is better than all.

Friends became brothers.

And crying turns into laughter.

Or oncoming lanes.

The road is better than all.

The FSB supervises our government. How many drones were stolen from the warehouse?

When will the deputies go to fight for the Verkhovna Rada? When will they stop winning tenders for kickbacks?

We hear loud speeches, but without results. Who will be responsible for the deaths of Ukrainians?

As always, no one is to blame. Do you look in front of you, what kind of future do you see?

He who was a friend before the war ceased to be one.

I will not forget the names of my fallen brothers. Your voices are not there, but they are heard in my heart.

I would still like to feel your hugs at least once. You died and a part of my soul died.

From that moment on, I am a stranger on this earth. The whole world became cold and mute for me.

The memory of you forever became my pain.

Only the living who left their souls there can tell about the battles in the landings. Nuclear weapons were given away, swords were exchanged for money.

Do not call trouble on yourself, it will come when it wants.

This war is on the shoulders of the previous generation. A Ukrainian has no self-awareness. Whose fault is it? Active assault actions.

Spring has come to the front. Banquet when there is no wine in the bars of Kyiv.

Don't be a servant to others all your life. Do not listen to politicians, all their words are lies.

So that you can live in peace, someone dies every day. Iron is remelted into steel.

A Cossack grew up from a baby. Many questions, no answers.

Kuzma looks at everything that is happening in tears. If nothing changes, it's all for nothing.

We shout with all our might, but the silence is mute. As long as there is memory, a soldier does not die.

As long as there is truth, our flag does not fade.

And even when time takes us around the world, Ukraine will remain in our hearts. I remember the cold of the trenches, the black smoke.

I remember those who gave their lives to young people. Where the sky darkens from thunder and mines.

There you stand facing death one on one. Sometimes my children ask: "What is this war?

Why did the Ukrainian spring bring so much pain?

" And I will answer quietly, looking at the sky: "This is the price for freedom, which had no end." Wine costs money, but blood does not. We need peace.

But under what conditions? How to make sure that the war does not come to us again?

Will we have security guarantees other than words?

We stand not for power and not for their throne, not for titles, not for the glitter of medals and epaulettes, for portraits in offices and false law.

Not in order for someone to make another million. A terrorist attack in the country's largest city.

The shooter kills without hindrance. All the walls are covered in blood. Garbage is scattered everywhere like pigs.

Send these to the front.

And in the oncoming lane, the road is better visible to everyone.

Friends became brothers.

And crying turns into laughter.

And in the oncoming lane, the road is better visible to everyone.

Friends became brothers.

And crying turns into laughter.