Lyrics Элхэ Ниэннах - Лаан Гэлломэ
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На крови траве высоко расти,
Высока трава - не найти пути,
На крови растут травы сорные -
Тучей вьются над ними вороны...
Ни имен, ни книг, ни баллад, ни слов...
Там, где город был - чернобыльник высок.
А что меч в крови - это кровь врагов:
Разве тот, кто прав, может быть жесток?
На крови траве высоко расти…
Мы не станем звездами полночи,
Не воскреснем словом в легендах мы;
Только имя - полынной горечью:
Лаан Гэлломэ.
На крови траве высоко расти…
Не возжечь огня, не затеплить свеч...
Что от нас осталось? - полынь да боль,
Да осоки листья - остры, как меч,
Да - под ветром клонится осокорь...
На крови траве высоко расти…
Черной нитью в парче золотых легенд,
Лунной руной на свитке прошедших лет
Мы - остались. Осталось у рухнувших стен
Черных маков поле - нас больше нет.
На крови траве высоко расти…
Dm A7
F C
Gm Dm
Gm A7 Dm
Dm A7
Gm A7
Dm C F A7
Gm A7
On the blood of grass grow high,
High grass - do not find a way,
On the grass weeds grow weeds -
The crows are croaking over them ...
No names, no books, no ballads, no words ...
Where the city was - the chernobylnik is high.
And that the sword in the blood is the blood of the enemies:
Is the one who is right can be cruel?
Blood on the grass grows high ...
We will not become midnight stars,
We will not resurrect the word in the legends;
Only the name - wormwood bitterness:
Laan Gallomey.
Blood on the grass grows high ...
Do not ignite a fire, do not shed a candle ...
What is left of us? - wormwood yes pain,
Yes sedge leaves - sharp, like a sword,
Yes - under the wind the sedge is leaning ...
Blood on the grass grows high ...
Black thread in the brocade of gold legends,
The Moon Runes on the Scroll of Past Years
We stayed. Remains at the collapsed walls
Black poppies field - we are no more.
Blood on the grass grows high ...
Dm A7
F C
Gm Dm
Gm A7 Dm
Dm A7
Gm A7
Dm C F A7
Gm A7
High grass - do not find a way,
On the grass weeds grow weeds -
The crows are croaking over them ...
No names, no books, no ballads, no words ...
Where the city was - the chernobylnik is high.
And that the sword in the blood is the blood of the enemies:
Is the one who is right can be cruel?
Blood on the grass grows high ...
We will not become midnight stars,
We will not resurrect the word in the legends;
Only the name - wormwood bitterness:
Laan Gallomey.
Blood on the grass grows high ...
Do not ignite a fire, do not shed a candle ...
What is left of us? - wormwood yes pain,
Yes sedge leaves - sharp, like a sword,
Yes - under the wind the sedge is leaning ...
Blood on the grass grows high ...
Black thread in the brocade of gold legends,
The Moon Runes on the Scroll of Past Years
We stayed. Remains at the collapsed walls
Black poppies field - we are no more.
Blood on the grass grows high ...
Dm A7
F C
Gm Dm
Gm A7 Dm
Dm A7
Gm A7
Dm C F A7
Gm A7