He sat in a room, in a square the color of blood;
He'd rule the whole world, if there was a way that he could -
He'd sit and he'd stare at the minarets on top of the towers,
For he was the beast, as he hatched his new plans to gain power.

And the snow fell, covering the dreams and ideals;
And the snow fell, freezing the blood and the wheels;
And the snow fell, they had to keep warm for survival;
And the snow fell, and defeated the beast's only rival.

They took the old roads, that Napoleon had taken before.
They fought as the forces of light, against the darkness,
In a holy war . . . one day they were looking around,
At the sun shining on the cold flowers,
The next day they were freezing to death,
In the snow and the ice-cold showers . . .

Then came the deadly road back on the steppes of their retreat;
The cold racked their bodies, but worse was the pain of defeat.
Many people who had hailed them once, now turned and looked away.
These people now knew, that the beast was on his way . . .

You finally came back, to the borders of your fatherland,
Now enemies came, traitors everywhere at hand . . .
Many people who had fought and died knowing that they had to win;
Yet still it sickens my heart
To see the picture of the red flag in berlin . . .

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