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Among prayers each night and the candles dim light
Among fires of peace and the tropheys of war
Lived the children, who never seen battles true might.
Who took every mistake and misstep to their soul

Chlidren always resent
Their age and their lot
And we fought to the blood
And to mortal insults
But the clothes our mothers
Would mend in due time
As we red our books
Getting drunk on the lines

Our hair would stick to our sweaty, wet brows
And the phrases would touch us right into our souls
Our heads would spin from dizzying scent of the wars
As From yellowish pages they would come to us

We hard to understand
though we never knew war
though we thought that war cry
Was insane, chilling howl
What's the meaning of Duty?
What the borders are for?
Sounds of charge and the clanging
Of chariots of war.

In the flames of wars, that passed long ago
There so much for inquisitive, agile young minds
For the roles of the villans, betrayers and foes
In our games we'd cast kids whom we just did not like

And the villans foul trail
We would not let grow cold
And the beautiful maidens
We would love and would hold
We'd protect our loved ones
We'd calm our friends
As for roles of the heroes
We cast ourselves

Yet you can't forever escape into dreams
Childshoods time is short - so much pain in the world
Try to pry open hands of those who have just died
And pick up their weapon from hands now so cold

And find out, as you hold
sword that is still so hot
Armor covers your chest
What is what, what is what
And find out, are you craven
Or the chosen of fate
Taste the bitter sweet struggle
Learn the taste of the hate

When your best friend fall dead from his wounds by your side
And you howl at his death - a first loss in your life
And when weak as if skinless yourself you will find
Just because he is dead and yet you are srill alive

You will know that you found
You distingwished, revealed
By the scowl of face plates
Its the deaths' ugly grin
Lies and evil just look
Their visage so gross
And behind them, as always
Cemeteries and crows

If you never in life tasted meat from the knife
If you never took action, just looked, standing aside
If you never fought traitors and butchers cold scythe
Then You never have lived and the life passed you by

If when cutting your way, with your fathers old sword
Its your own salty tears, taught you lifes brutal truth
If in battle, so bloody you learned what is what
Then it is the right books, that you red in your youth

:D Если путь прорубая отцовским мечом
Ты соленые слезы на ус намотал...

Баллада о борьбе, В.Высоцкий...Браво, эр Пардус !!!