[Verse 1]
A drone crossed two thousand kilometers of open sky
Struck a Wildberries warehouse deep in Russian territory
Kyiv's unmanned arsenal reaching places none thought high
The aerial campaign expanding, writing its own gory history
Civilians in the wreckage, counting what they've lost
Every escalation tallied in a currency called cost
[Chorus]
*La guerre continue, les cendres tombent encore*
*On compte les morts, on cherche les disparus*
The war keeps moving, adding to its score
August tenth — eleven Peruvians gone, a hundred fourteen more
Lost somewhere in the grinding, the forgotten and ignored
[Verse 2]
Peru announced eleven citizens confirmed deceased
A hundred fourteen missing — families across the Andes wait
Foreign nationals dissolved into this endless feast
Of attrition, where no border keeps your loved ones safe
Turkey called a moratorium on the Black Sea fight
Both fleets circling, neither blinking, neither dimming their appetite
[Chorus]
*La guerre continue, les cendres tombent encore*
*On compte les morts, on cherche les disparus*
The war keeps moving, adding to its score
August tenth — eleven Peruvians gone, a hundred fourteen more
Lost somewhere in the grinding, the forgotten and ignored
[Bridge]
Zelensky says ballistic missiles — Ukrainian-built — could reach Russia come the fall
A new word for this darkness: *thanatopsis* — the meditation on what death consumes in all
Seven dead in overnight exchanges, Odesa called *brutal* by the watching press
Each headline a data point in suffering's arithmetic, no less
Russia, Ukraine, trading blows across the moonlit Black Sea sprawl
Turkey watching, counting, wondering if anyone will answer when they call
[Verse 3]
The understandingwar assessment maps the frontline inch by inch
Both sides have sharpened their nocturnal weapons, drones and shells
Civilians are the ones who pay — no medal, no distinguished
Commendation for the ones who shelter in their bombed-out shells
CNN reports the aerial war has *stepped up* — clinical and plain
As if the stepping-up were progress, not just catalogued pain
[Chorus]
*La guerre continue, les cendres tombent encore*
*On compte les morts, on cherche les disparus*
The war keeps moving, adding to its score
August tenth — eleven Peruvians gone, a hundred fourteen more
Lost somewhere in the grinding, the forgotten and ignored
[Outro]
*Disparus* — the missing — swallowed by a war not theirs
Two thousand kilometers of drone flight, still nobody stares
Long enough to stop it — so the accordion plays its moan
August tenth, twenty-twenty-six, and nobody comes home