The waves of the dam near Ogosta Stadium are raging, and the opponent of the Glory is insecure and afraid.
Powerful choruses the hosts sing because the moment is coming for a convincing win.
This is FC Montana. Club with heart and a century of history, with ups and downs flooded always striving for the top and a better change.
With a school springboard for talent, the only one that is free. Coaches who believe in children and in their future glorious successes. The traditional colors are blue, white and red - gathering people in a sacred union.
Blue hearts tremble in a fast rhythm, expecting the match to conquer. Small and big fans with songs they strive, the loyalty for their team to sustain and give the necessary support.
Every day they long for the strong emotions, they share for the future.
This is a poem for my favorite football club and is translated to English language.
Walls carved into stone. The godly shapes repulsing stars further from sky.
Rocks with fantastic shapes, objects of legends. They are frequently named after people or objects of which they remind. The rocks vary in color from primarily red to yellow; some of the rocks reach up to 200 m in height.
The first of March, The day where red and white entangle In the tradition of Bulgaria Into a token summoning good health, And luck, and non-material wealth To the body and the spirit of the wearer Be well, my friends, and fellow feathers, Around the world, from near and far, May fortune bring you well
You are a co-worker I will truly miss So I thought and decided to write you this Working by your side has always been great Even on days you clocked in a little late I am glad your acquaintance I got the chance to know Have a great life no matter where you go Have a safe trip back to your own country Now you'll always have these words to remember me
To my Bulgarian co-worker... today is his last day.
А тя ли? Тя беше нещо повече от красива роза. Тя беше нещо повече от някаква виолетка. Щом я докоснеше, цигарата сама се палеше. Само като минеше, момчетата усещаха аромата и. Черните и дрехи създаваха внушението на бунтар. Но знаех, че не бе такава. А може би беше? Всички си въобразявахме, че я познаваме. Всички мислехме, че знаем чувствата и. Но тя самата не ги бе разбрала. И как иначе? Преструваше се на друг човек. Всяка секунда и всяка минута живееше нечий друг живот. И единствената причина защо го правеше, бе нейният живот. Не го искаше. Нито той искаше нея.