Владимир Чистиков, Александр Фролов Air Fighters

The sky is so bottomless,
Deep blue – impossible to grasp.
Your soul is so homeless
In this space waiting for a blast

You are flying high in your air machine,
Something is trembling it's duralumin skin

Death breathing.
War within
His mad head.
Blood's on his hand

You feel the danger approaching.
Wake up – your enemy is here!
Black cross is on the wings of the iron bird;
Ace of spades — on the fuselage.

Fight to the end while you're having the strength
Though the enemy hawk is a son of the death.

Don't look to the past, defender!
The moment of fight is your glory.
Will you win or lose independence?
Grandchildren will retell this story!

Black holes are in your memory.
Tear chains to clear the signs.
Runes are kept the bravery
Who's not afraid to die.

World's on the edge disappears. The stage
Is in fire and smoke's like the leaden fog.