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The wicked worm kills Spirit of the Race by stealth,

Deceit, the burry laughter rises from behind the grime.

The brighter shards of Pure among the leprosy and death

Were shining (in) those Great Names of all the time

Though centuries were passing, and so our morals changed,

But Heathen Archetype still raged in blood

Of Those few whose, we swear, memory remains.

Who we'll erternally retain, we're talking 'bout day by day,

Those Heroes footsteps we're to follow unconstrained.

There is everything, i still believe, was not in vain,

There is a sense in Sacrifice and War, in Dramas Pain

On wings of Glory. Triumph of our Will onwards again

To Fathers and to Brothers the earth Salt of the Sun wends way !