Текст песни Воронов Владимир - Под прицелами

Em
Datura in my head, trembling in my body,
Am
After all, winter is playful for a cold.
H7
And there was a war, And the lie laughed,
E
Above the guys, the lie is beautiful.
 
Chorus
Am d
It’s there, behind the snowstorms,
G c
Everything will be forgotten in the native land
Am h7
Fate will not turn as we wanted
Em e
And in foreign fields will not get lost
Am d
It's over there, behind the snowstorms
G c
Everything will be forgotten in the native land
Am h7
And for a thousand miles at gunpoint,
Em
... boys ...

The frost creaked beyond the outskirts
Yes, at Christmas the sky took pity.
Somewhere my mother prays to God
About me a little sad.

Chorus:
It’s there, behind the snowstorms,
In the native land everything is as before,
Days do not merge with weeks
Block posts with crow flocks.
It’s there, behind the snowstorms,
In the native land everything is as before,
And for a thousand miles at gunpoint,
... boys ...

And the sergeant looked away with an inflamed look
From the pages of the letter, yes I closed my eyes.
And in a dream he presses an automaton to his heart
And he forgot about the holidays long ago

Chorus:
It's over there, behind the snowstorms
Everything comes true in the native land
And on New Year's Eve pines with fir trees
don't splinters dress up
It's over there, behind the snowstorms
Everything comes true in the native land
And for a thousand miles at gunpoint,
... boys ...

With the squealing of bullets and wind, noise
Soul covered with black mud
And shooting in life, I sin again
What would see the Old Man fell.

Chorus:
It's over there, behind the snowstorms
In my native land everything is still
But with tears and losses
we live by hope alone.
It's over there, behind the snowstorms
In my native land everything is still
And for a thousand miles at gunpoint,
... boys ...

On holy armor in camouflage
Dropping the gray beards
We are leaving again on the serpentine road
Writing to your beloved "See you soon ..."

Chorus:
It’s there, behind the snowstorms,
On the native land, bread and salt in houses.
And behind the snow cradles
At night, I don’t hear: “Akbar Allah!”
It’s there, behind the snowstorms,
On the native land, bread and salt in houses.
And for a thousand miles at gunpoint,
... boys ...
... boys ...
... boys ...

... boys ...
... boys ...