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