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I didn’t die, I didn’t fall like a cut oak.

I am not dead, not a lifeless corpse!

Will the mighty divine voice thunder,

God is chasing us, but he’s weak and powerless!

Nobody will rise again, but I’ll rise like a lion,

I am not afraid of sacred scorching wrath

Wrath of slaves, wrath of fools, wrath of worms and merchants

In my dead heart embraced by a fatal sleep!

I will rise and brothers, sister will follow me in one impulse,

We will go to the battle with him,

I am not dead, not a lifeless corps!

I didn’t feel the rush of strengths and delight,

Hearing the sweet speeches of priests,

The mighty thunder of gods is muffled and ridiculous,

The God’s word has been causing only laughter

In a pure heart, among sweet pleasures.

In the weakened slaves’ bodies, that are rotten right through,

Through the prayers, exalted to dead,

I would raise the desecrated flag of folk,

But only dozens will follow me,

And thousands will remain lying under the pews.

The simple are burning with animosity of a pathetic slave,

God’s with us! He’s calling for work and feat!

Open their rotten, stinking mouth,

Yes, your folk died, they’re accustomed to disgrace,

The oppression of age long chains is an immense shame

It withered their mind and blinded them.

They’re used to slavery, what preys on their mind

Is only slavish fear of scourge, the dust of everyday worries.

Wriggling like a worm, in the abyss of torture and grief,

Can they believe in a coming dawn,

Rush passionately to the distant invisible rays,

And speak to the upcoming centuries?..

They won’t rise without the beat of scourge,

They won’t rise to fight without executioner’s threats:

The color is faded and the dew isn’t reviving!..

If the flag rises and rattles

Trumpet sound, presaging the end to the slavery,

Will the corps rise, will the dead arise?