You! Daylight of fickle ways - proprietor of wicked blades,
You set out to think you are successful warlord.
Oh, slave of your own will, go away with your lances.
To what extent I should bite the dust for you?
For what reason should we should learn
through loss of human lives?
Why cannot you do something
with your own effort?
You tear into everything.
Go away, frosty shake of forces!
To what extent I should kick the bucket under your rule.
With help of your cash
the fat colonels instruct to kill
their own particular prophets.
You, slaves who set out to be our leaders,
you will never observe divine hand near clouds...
May ice melt down over your eyelids.
May dark mountain will see freedom.
Foes, toss your weapons under your feet.
Is there still a human being?
Rocks of power will vanish. Hurrah!
Translator and Photographer Igor Marinovsky from family Sufyan