The pain burns in my consciousness By a fresh disturbed wound: Why is your shape, Khan Tengri, Bewitched by a gloomy fog? Seeing your silhouette torn
s immortality. Here the archers throw their whistling. There are five deep wrinkles on the face of Kara Oy. The land of Kara Oy has a great sorrow. Five
Ashes will scatter on earth as a necklace, beginning of night. Scars stare at us from the sky. The mirror of lake water will give us the way, The sublimity
[Instrumental]
hills and dark grey, almost black silhouettes of the Altay mountains. White stains of the nomad's urtahs. The shepherd incredibly chooses the right grey roads
