The frost tries to reach us,
with its cruel cold hands
the cold witheness hurts our eyes
and we still march with wind in the face.
We follow the trace of blood in the snow
Yesterday we burnt two villages
We killed women and children
Heads out of the bodies of priests
We impaled on our wooden socle...
The blood of hideous monk
is still getting blacker on my axe
Their temple burnt.
And we fed a fire with their corpses
My brothers are marching silently
The great frost turns the hearts to ice
The warm blood will bring the life back
to their bodies...
Another christian village is near...
those who escaped showed us the way...
by the blood from their wounds...