moon thunderstorm, freedom warrior,
Covered with the blood of saints.
Wonderful your father, a criminal and a hero,
And the horror of people, and fame was worthy.
You, baby, he caressed
On ardent breast bloody hand;
A dagger was your toy -
Bratoubiйstvom izoщrennый ...
How often, arousing fierce revenge fever,
is he, silently, over your innocent cradle
Killing a new pondering blow -
And your babble listened, and was no stranger to fun ...
This was: gloomy, terrible to the end.
Notes, beautiful, you stormy century father
Humble Life redeemed before the sky:
On the graves threatening to heaven
She is, as sweet incense,
As pure love of prayer, ascended.
