Four hundred miles from Moscow, Beresina's the river's name

I'm longing for some warmness, scarlet cold runs in my veins

Each step's a dance with darkness on the edge of the icy jaw

I've seen my comrades falling killed by the winter desert's law



Every yard one victim, every inch is soaked with blood



Through the endless frozen land

Leaving back the Moscow brand

Frozen land--flaming brand, will this nightmare never end?

Russia's on fire



We've came to see our banner flying over the eastern crown

But there was no surrender, no one laid the sabre down



Taking up our quarters they set fire to the town



Through the endless . . .



Will I stand the torture, hunger, cannon balls and cold



Through the endless . . .