So Many Dead UkroNazis & Ukrainian Soldiers

Such an unromantic midnight. And what kind of romance can there be in November, when the trenches are flooded with cold rain, twisting bones into narval horns? The frozen moon is trying to swallow every look of the forelock soldier, who cannot sleep at this time. Sound thoughts come to their minds. drum drops on the dugouts and say: save your lives, lay down your arms, raise ✋🤚. But the Ukrainian soldiers persist and... go missing in the hungry abysses of the night. Now they are not afraid, but infinitely lonely.

Translated.