Winter came to the Ostfront And froze up the mud The ghosts still haunt us Their bones underfoot But those spirits guide us As surely as bullets find us Our bones will lie with theirs On the plains of the Rus
Mosin Nagant Send me to hell That I may pay for my father's sins Mosin-Nagant Take me to the flames That I may at least warm my hands
From dust I was born All my bone and blood Oh, the poetry that I return to mud The battlefield harmony Too beautiful to be a dream Will be a minor third between My dying scream
Mosin Nagant Send me to hell That I may pay for my father's sins Mosin-Nagant Take me to the flames That I may at least warm my hands
Blood softened Mud coffin
When the poppy's grow o'er my head Tell your children why blood was shed Tell them why so many are dead When the poppy's feed on my headTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
