we are the sons of the city
madness in our minds
waiting for the enemies
the last walls are falling down
sons of the city

we are the sons of the city
death is my game
sons of father stalin
impervious concrete monster

warriors of power
fighting for all that remains on the western bank
a cluster of bodies
their flesh and bones mixed with mud and snow

we are the sons of the city
slow suffocation
the future of mankind
thoughts of hope

sons of the city

warheads roaring, organs crepitate
the battle is raging, bloodbath

the smell of death is running all over
they send us armless to the batllezone
through the sewers, factory's unhold
the batlle is raging, no surrender

in the streets, there is no living soul
everything is so strange, so unreal
the city becomes a cadaver, a slowly rotting beast
who will remember
at night
the cosack-hymns touch the souls of the intruder

dawai, dawai
rucki vjerch
tchoeikov, bold commander, banisher of the weak
still defender of the ruins
the favourite son of mother russia
he is the son of the city
madness in his mind
awaiting the enemies
holding the last lines
son of the city

we are the sons, sons of a dying city
we survived, survived on alcohol
we did see their faces, so close but so unreal
they died far form home, for the prestige of the leader
human lifes are worthless in this armageddon
the city of dead

and still the warhead roaring, the organs crepitate
the battle is raging, massgraves

a battle of man to man, hero to hero
we'll fight for the city until our last hearbeat
this city is wiping out thousands each day
deranged memories still burning in their mind

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