Four hundred miles from Moscow, Beresina's the river's name  I'm longing for some warmness, scarlet cold runs in my veins  Each step's a dance with darkness on the edge of the icy jaw  I've seen my comrades falling killed by the winter desert's law  Every yard one victim, every inch is soaked with blood  Through the endless frozen land  Leaving back the Moscow brand  Frozen land--flaming brand, will this nightmare never end?  Russia's on fire  We've came to see our banner flying over the eastern crown  But there was no surrender, no one laid the sabre down  Taking up our quarters they set fire to the town  Through the endless . . .  Will I stand the torture, hunger, cannon balls and cold  Through the endless . . .