Cold are the bones of thy soldiers.
Longing for home, their little paradise.
I don't feel redemption on their side
Fallen from grace, help me rise again.
Fallen from grace, help me through.
Fallen from grace, help me through.
Fallen from grace.
Feel these hands, the pressure, the cold, tremble.
Do you hear these words?
Do you feel the wounds?
I'll never help you through.
Cold are thy souls.
I feel the resentment,
they feel betraid
They hate the cold
I don't feel redemption on their side.
Fallen from grace, help me rise again
Fallen from grace, help me through
Холодны кости твоих воинов,
Жаждущих попасть домой, в их маленький рай.
Я не вижу в них избавления.
Сражена красотой, помоги мне подняться.
Сражена красотой, поддержи меня до самого конца.
Сражена красотой, поддержи меня до самого конца.
Сражена красотой…
Ощути эти руки, тяжесть, холод, дрожь.
Ты слышишь эти слова?
Ты ощущаешь эти раны?
Я никогда не стану тебе помогать.
Холодны эти души.
Я ощущаю оскорбление,
Они чувствуют – их предали,
Они ненавидят холод.
Я не вижу в них избавления…
Сражена красотой, помоги мне подняться.
Сражена красотой, поддержи меня до самого конца.
Cold are the bones of thy soldiers.
Longing for home, their little paradise.
I don't feel redemption on their side
Fallen from grace, help me rise again.
Fallen from grace, help me through.
Fallen from grace, help me through.
Fallen from grace.
Feel these hands, the pressure, the cold, tremble.
Do you hear these words?
Do you feel the wounds?
I'll never help you through.
Cold are thy souls.
I feel the resentment,
they feel betraid
They hate the cold
I don't feel redemption on their side.
Fallen from grace, help me rise again
Fallen from grace, help me through
The bones of your warriors are cold
Longing to go home to their little paradise.
I see no deliverance in them.
Struck by beauty, help me up.
Struck by beauty, support me until the very end.
Struck by beauty, support me until the very end.
Struck by beauty ...
Feel these hands, the heaviness, the cold, the trembling.
Do you hear these words?
Do you feel these wounds?
I will never help you.
These souls are cold.
I feel insulted
They feel they have been betrayed
They hate the cold.
I see no deliverance in them ...
Struck by beauty, help me up.
Struck by beauty, support me until the very end.
