Lost convoy in the sand
No map, no mercy, no hand
Rusted tracks cut the bone
We keep moving, skin to stone
Skulls in the ditch, white and small
Sun so hard it burns through all
Machine guns, far away
Spitting ghosts into the day
Ancient war in every hill
Every silence loaded still
We step where the dead have been
Read the scars in the broken tin
Memory follows like a blade
Cuts the heat the sun has made
Dust on the tongue
Dust in the eyes
Old war waking
Under the skies
If we reach the next ridge
Will the past still know our face?
If the desert keeps its mouth shut
Will it keep our bones in place?
Sand of time, take my name
Sand of time, leave the flame
Lost convoy, hold the line
Lost convoy, sand of time
Песок времён англ
© Copyright: Игорь Кондратьев 3, 2026
Свидетельство о публикации №126091804619
Свидетельство о публикации №126091804619
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