By white manes of wild horses,
The blizzard slowly sweeps the traces,
The army is moving out by the road of shadows,
Snow is freezing on the cold temples
The morning light will colour the helmets,
Under an azure sky,
Where we exist no longer,
A zephyr will carry you my song,
Of how we gained glory in battle
The feathers of an arrow will quiver,
The sword will glare by blue contour,
Only to bring a fleeting feel of home,
On all these hoary fields
By the scream of a carrion crow, darker than cinders
The warriors move onwards on their new way
By white manes of wild horses,
The blizzard slowly sweeps the traces.