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we are the sons of the city

madness in our minds

waiting for the enemies

the last walls are falling down

sons of the city

we are the sons of the city

death is my game

sons of father stalin

impervious concrete monster

warriors of power

fighting for all that remains on the western bank

a cluster of bodies

their flesh and bones mixed with mud and snow

we are the sons of the city

slow suffocation

the future of mankind

thoughts of hope

sons of the city

warheads roaring, organs crepitate

the battle is raging, bloodbath

the smell of death is running all over

they send us armless to the batllezone

through the sewers, factory's unhold

the batlle is raging, no surrender

in the streets, there is no living soul

everything is so strange, so unreal

the city becomes a cadaver, a slowly rotting beast

who will remember

at night

the cosack-hymns touch the souls of the intruder

dawai, dawai

rucki vjerch

tchoeikov, bold commander, banisher of the weak

still defender of the ruins

the favourite son of mother russia

he is the son of the city

madness in his mind

awaiting the enemies

holding the last lines

son of the city

we are the sons, sons of a dying city

we survived, survived on alcohol

we did see their faces, so close but so unreal

they died far form home, for the prestige of the leader

human lifes are worthless in this armageddon

the city of dead

and still the warhead roaring, the organs crepitate

the battle is raging, massgraves

a battle of man to man, hero to hero

we'll fight for the city until our last hearbeat

this city is wiping out thousands each day

deranged memories still burning in their mind