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I'm like a ruler of the land,

Where the gray rain is falling.

Powerless among his own riches,

Too old among youth,

Who doesn't care about courts

Servile bows

And between hount of his dogs

Is always bored

Nothing excited him,

Even hunting (!&!) flying falcon.

Even the best clawns funny ballad

Doesn't make

The sick tyrant laugh

His carved bad

Turned into the grave

Expert of the mystic sciences

Which made his gold

... Turns into the grave

Expect of the mystic sciences

... Turns into the grave

Which made his gold

Couldn't find medicine

For venom of this illness

Tried to bath him in blood

According to Romans tradition

But he couldn't managed to

Bring live into death body

Awake life in death!

Awake life in death!

Awake life in death!

Yeaaaaaah!