Roads choose vanity,
Lying under the feet of stone rain,
Horizontally grasping the height,
Following the fire.

Centuries of gnarled staff years,
Jamming alone in a fist,
To the heights of untapped victories
With an ally, the winds of hope flag.

And hissing snakes crawl,
I hope the shade of poison to nourish,
Going into the distance does not betray loving,
Traces on the rocks of fate print.

Great slopes whirl
Calluses renounced eyes,
God will help and not catch up with death,
Until rages in impotence the storm.

While white smoke hovers over the flag
And sun ray on blue sword,
From mud slabodushie stores,
Sunsets unfolding a red cloth.

Let there be a refraction of epochs,
The path is difficult, but the road does not roll,
By believing without a doubt come
The one who is worthy to measure this way.

Chorus:

The stones of the roads will be erased in the sand,
My way. My rock.