My grandmother heard from her grandmother,
and so on,
That Angels look like tiny golden bells with wings,
They like the sun, light,
Look at the sun, and smile...
It was 1943, another grandmother's story,
She was sleeping at night and woke up,
It was like a dream, our solders hiding in the snow,
Her brother too,
Trying to cross the winter road.
On other side hiding an enemy sniper,
He sees them, but they couldn't see him.
She knew he will do what the snipers do,
And she whispers: "no".
The machine gun stopped working,
The sniper is mad trowed it in the snow,
Hiding now.
May be it was just a dream.
