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 . . .