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Frigid gales and freezing snow, blinded eyes and rotting toes,

Followed by the enemy, march or die, march or die, march or die.

Coming to Armenia, marching for millennia, or so it seems

with broken dreams, and endless melancholia.

Sacrifice unto the wind, thirty fall as we begin,

Feel as though we lost our way, how and why, how and why, how and why?

Now we cross Armenia, fighting our deliria, or so it seems

with broken dreams, and endless melancholia.

Thus, we cannot yield,

to the pain unless we’re healed.

Praying to Asclepius.

We have no trust ,no food or drink, seems our fate is sealed.

Frigid gales and freezing snow, will we make it no one knows.

Came upon a swarm of bees, march or die, march or die, march or die.

As we leave Armenia, fighting our hysteria, or so it seems

with broken dreams, and endless melancholia.