Люди бежали подальше от черных ворот.
Воздух, отравленный дымом, густел и густел.
Горел небосвод, горели город и порт.
И где-то ребенок потерянный плакал и пел:
«Пепел. Пепел»
Горели дома, города исчезали бесследно.
Весь мир, охваченный болью и злобой, горел.
Пока короли пировали, считая победы,
Потерянный маленький мальчик от голода ел
Пепел. Пепел.
Люди молились, с надеждой глядя на небо.
Кто-то стоял на коленях, кто-то сидел.
«Хлеба. Дай же нам хлеба. Хоть капельку хлеба»
Но небо как прежде молчало, и сверху летел
Лишь пепел. Пепел. Пепел. Пепел.
People ran away from the black gate.
The air, poisoned by smoke, became thicker and thicker.
The sky was burning, the city and the port were burning.
And somewhere a lost child cried and sang:
"Ash. Ash"
Houses burned, cities disappeared without a trace.
The whole world, engulfed in pain and anger, was burning.
While the kings feasted and counted their victories,
The lost little boy ate from hunger
Ash. Ash.
People prayed, looking at the sky with hope.
Some were kneeling, some were sitting.
"Of bread. Give us bread. Just a drop of bread"
But the sky was silent as before, and flying from above
Only ashes. Ash. Ash. Ash.