Даль времён

[Intro]
(Hard 4/4 kick, dark bass pulse,
evolving synth pad)
мы, проживая эту жизнь,
оставим чёткий след.


[Verse 1]
Посмотрят  потомки
из  дАли  времён
на то, как с тобою
нынче живем...

и  что-то  оценят,
а  что-то  забудут...

твой след затуманит?
поток... серых...  будней...

коль личный  твой след:
точный  мАркер  душИ,
громАдной и нАстежь
раскрЫтой для мира
тогда несомненно:
он в небе духовном
себя обретёт
расцвЕтшею радугой
след обознАчив.
изЫсканным  светом
флюИд  воссиЯя.

(Drop: full beat returns with aggressive
supersaw, sidechain pumping,
and layered percussion)
а может след в памяти
близких осядет:
прочно и чётко...

[Bridge]
(Break: kick drops, only atmospheric
arp and vocal delay)
иль сразу с исходом
на ноль отойдёт:
помЕркнет... иссЯкнет...

[Pre-Chorus]
твой  след:
он какой?
размытый...иль   
чёткий?
затоптанный?...
стёртый?...

[Chorus]
где силы внутренние взять?
украсть?   скопить?
иль как-то вдохновиться?
и надо ли бороться с миром?

(Drop: full beat returns with aggressive
supersaw, sidechain pumping,
and layered percussion)

[Verse 2]
но может случится
в неравной борьбе:
оставленный след,
при встрече с судьбою:
иссякнет в унЫнии:
замрёт и зачахнет.

замёрзнет, застынет
средь многих  снегов,
что, сам неустанно 
генерИровал рядом...
и  вечного  льда
непроглядная  ночь
внутри  воцарится,
твой след поглощая...

[Pre-Chorus]
твой  след:
он какой?
размытый...иль   
чёткий?
затоптанный?...
стёртый?...

[Chorus]
где силы внутренние взять?
украсть?   скопить?
иль как-то вдохновиться?
и надо ли бороться с миром?

[Verse 3]
по воле судьбы:
сценарий другой.
твой жребий
подбрОшен:
дрессура по кругу
с уздОю и лАссо
под гнётом ярмА,
и щёлканье кнУтом...

а след отпечАтком
в рамках загОна.


[Chorus]
где силы внутренние взять?
и надо ли бороться с миром?
неИстово боксировать на ринге
с партнёром, что судьбой зовётся?

(Fade with repeating vocal chop):
"пока не поздно... пока не поздно..."

перевод под EDM:

The Distance of Time

[Intro]
(Hard 4/4 kick, dark bass pulse, evolving synth pad)
From the distance of time, our descendants will look down,
Watching how we live with you right now, all around.
They’ll weigh the moments, judge the choices we have made,
Some they’ll remember, some they’ll let just fade away.

[Verse 1]
Will the stream of gray days blur your mark and wash it clean?
A flood of routine, cold and heavy, in between.
Or will your trace remain, deep in the hearts that knew you best,
Firm and so clear—a truth that never lets you rest.
Maybe it’ll vanish with the ending of the day,
Fade into nothing, dim and hollow, slip away.
But maybe your mark will rise so huge and wide and free,
An impossible rainbow arching over history.
A rare, refined light—a fluid glow that breaks the night,
A soul so open, burning brighter than the stars’ own light.

[Pre-Chorus]
Trapped in the snows you scattered round, above it all.
And the endless ice, a pitch;black night inside your core,
Will swallow every trace you left before the door closes more.

[Chorus]
By fate’s own hand, another script is written in the air,
Your lot is cast—no way to change the load you have to bear.
Training in circles, bridle and lasso, yoke so tight,
The whip’s sharp crack echoes through the dead of night.
Your mark becomes a single print, inside the pen’s cold frame,
Bound by the same old loop, repeating all the same.

[Verse 2]
What kind of mark is yours? Have you ever stopped to see?
Is there enough strength to rewrite the story, set it free?
Where do you find the power when the fire’s almost gone?
What sparks the will to fight the world and carry on?
Is it worth the battle, standing strong against the tide?
Or are we just swept away, no matter how we tried?
In the ring, I leap and box with fate,
that's my partner's name— there's no getting away from it.
Every punch is truth, every blow a choice,
Dancing with the storm, hearing my own voice.

[Pre-Chorus]
Where do I find the strength inside?
Steal it? Hoard it? Let it ride?
Is it worth the fight…
Against the world…
Against the tide…

[Chorus]
By fate’s own hand, another script is written in the air,
Your lot is cast—no way to change the load you have to bear.
Training in circles, bridle and lasso, yoke so tight,
The whip’s sharp crack echoes through the dead of night.
Your mark becomes a single print, inside the pen’s cold frame,
Bound by the same old loop, repeating all the same.

(Drop: full beat returns with aggressive supersaw,
 sidechain pumping, and layered percussion)

[Outro]
What kind of mark is yours? The question stays with me,
In the rush of time, in every breath we take, so free.
Even in the cold, even in the dark we face,
We leave a trace—in hope, in fear, in every single place.

(Fade with repeating vocal chop):
“what kind of mark… what kind of mark…”
" before it's too late... before it's too late..."