In the grey fields of terror and death, where cannons 
never sleep and hunger is never quenched, they die and 
die and keep on dying in vermin and cold rancid blood. 
Forward, forward! In mud and in blood! Forward, nevermind 
the iron storm. Ardour has passed away a long time ago 
now, no one could tell when, no one could tell why. But 
this life is not life, it's the whole world committing 
mass suicide. Once convicted of unity, now beholding the 
true face of disharmony, allies have all failed, Sofia 
has fallen. Whatever, the march goes on and on and on... 
Here in the grey fields of terror and death, far away 
from homeland, defeatists and traitors, the alliance of 
death keeps on marching, keeps on dying for the sake of 
eternal confrontation. Reeling skeletal shadows, 
sleepless and dismayed, praying helpless gods when the 
night is too long in quaint rosaries and rusty weaponry, 
though there's no place for doubt: there will still be 
death! In regrets and in fear, in sludge and in disease, 
it keeps on calling to burn what's left to burn. Forward, 
forward! In mud and in blood! And forget the mouths of 
clay that swallow forever more. Fidelity to the one whom 
time has passed can't prevent the ravage of his heritage 
by the untenable scarlet tempest brought forth from the 
land of his eastern akin. The illusion of peace, the hoax 
of defeat has planted the seeds for times of sedition, 
and men will be seduced and scream in jubilation as 
darkness and despair covers the entire world.