To erase three generations. To slaugther millions of dreams. A monument of
suffering. Build from human flesh. A world taken away from ever. Existence
turns to ashes. How many poets dies, how many books. Were never written, so
many songs we'll. Never hear, so many friends we'll never neet. No anwser to
find. No killers left to charges. Wash from hands in innocence. Our crime is
called forgetting. Just one bloodshed in history. But our shame for ever.
|
Switch to Russian 
