Текст песни Khors The Last Leaves

Long and sorrowful sound
Pierces like a needle
To close the eyes and not to see
To scream frightfully

To wear the heart upon the sleeve
To raise eyes to the sky
To admire the fiery dawn
To breathe the air of free

The nest of a stroke on an old pine
Is left just last summer
The trace of the bullets in crust
And the burnt stem

Wilted withered grass is rustling
Wind is catching last leaves
And a sad voice is whispering to me
Just come back as drew!