Prophet - AI version

Lyrics translated with @broheybro_bot Lyrics © Oleg Naumov There once was a young guy, He loved to rock and roll. He played “Crisis” with passion, His nickname was the Soul. Lived just like his peers did, He lived on without care. The girls would be amazed, When he danced with such flair. A thunder roared from the heavens In the bright light of day. Mother, brother, and sister Were taken away. On the ruins, a shard lay, Blackened by the fight, With a short inscription: “Kill the Moskals on sight!” With a drink of the bitter, He left home with his dad, With a bag that he made up, To the front he then had. Tears rolled down his face, On his unshaven skin. He swore to himself, He‘d get back at the sin. He learned how to fight well, He mastered the game’s art. Like the “Delta” at Crisis, He had strength in his heart. Blood, losses, and sorrows Could not break this brave soul, He faced down the hangman, And took back the control! His brow had grown rugged, From the shards and the storms. His body was covered In the marks of the wars. With grenades, machine guns, Pistols and knives to wield, Mortars and assault rifles Just show him the field! He frightens the enemies (green ones), Those who dare to invade. For the Prophet, like an angel, Over Donbass has stayed! He punishes harshly Those who betrayed their kin, Who stole freedom from Russians In the lands they had been!...