Boris BAM Unpeaceful_skies_(Не мирное небо) Prod. by Boris BAM

No haven exists, no safety in sight
No Wednesday's calm or a Friday night
Each day we must watch with our very last breath
To keep our own asses from meeting their death

The strategic comforts that warmed us before
Have long ceased to please us, they bring joy no more
Drone-death is sport now, a cyber-lit game
The radio hisses — "You're next in the frame"

Our losses grow commonplace, numb and routine
Just news statistics on a flickering screen
What happened to you now, oh people, tell me
We like Death itself on our social TV

You can't look at skies without feeling the dread
Forget all your peace, be alert till you're dead
Such are the changes this era has cast
Pull out the grenade pin, the moment won't last

In networks anonymous, solace is none
Just numbers of corpses and bitterness here
We're hostages trapped on a digital front
Where everyone's forced to play over the line

Here children draw craters right onto the wall
Counting shrapnel fragments from systems anew
Our offspring will stare through the optics' thrall
As worlds turn to ash-dust for me and for you

The hope of a concrete-box shelter's embrace
But trembling reveals our human disgrace
The final live minute of peace left on Earth
Now hangs o'er the wasteland where nothing has worth