From the tomb of tatars high above our road Lady mad with blood and glory in her eyes Stands three hundred feet with sword of volga steel Challenging the gloaming sky
Roam her endless streets of summer waving heat Pavements softened grope through yellow land Drive through wide crevasse in tenement relief Press precious cold drink to your hand
Родина-мать зовет Родина-мать зовет In the softest silent corridors of night Where the houses cling to yellow sand Babies sleeping in the bellies of their light Dogs lie restless with the damned
