Текст песни Виталий - Белый волк

On a crimson glade, at seven birches,
Before Volk the circle was closed.
Behind is a cliff.
Lonely lived, did not touch different animals,
Only still got
The wolf is a jackal.

The White Wolf said to the jackals:
"This is my land!"
And you are fed up with carrion,
Now I need? -
The eye caught fire green,
Fangs bared,
Shadowed the whining of the jackals
Frozen roar.

In the shreds of gray fog
The sunrise was rotting.
Through an oblique field
There was an uneven trace.
The step grew wider
Along the Great River -
He hurried to where, from where
Aliens came ...

The night receded from the clearing,
The stone trembled -
White Wolf from blood drunk
He thrashed his throat.

In a pile of dead bodies grabbed
Death
Silence...
In red puddles dissolved
Black
Moon.

In the shreds of gray fog
The sunrise was rotting.
Through an oblique field
There was an uneven trace.
The step grew wider
Along the Great River -
He hurried to where, from where
Aliens came ...

In the shreds of gray fog
The sunrise was rotting.
Through an oblique field
There was an uneven trace.
The step grew wider
Along the Great River -
He hurried to where, from where
Aliens came ...