In the grey fields of terror and death, where cannons never sleep and hunger is never quenched, they die and die and keep on dying in vermin and cold rancid blood. Forward, forward! In mud and in blood! Forward, nevermind the iron storm. Ardour has passed away a long time ago now, no one could tell when, no one could tell why. But this life is not life, it's the whole world committing mass suicide. Once convicted of unity, now beholding the true face of disharmony, allies have all failed, Sofia has fallen. Whatever, the march goes on and on and on... Here in the grey fields of terror and death, far away from homeland, defeatists and traitors, the alliance of death keeps on marching, keeps on dying for the sake of eternal confrontation. Reeling skeletal shadows, sleepless and dismayed, praying helpless gods when the night is too long in quaint rosaries and rusty weaponry, though there's no place for doubt: there will still be death! In regrets and in fear, in sludge and in disease, it keeps on calling to burn what's left to burn. Forward, forward! In mud and in blood! And forget the mouths of clay that swallow forever more. Fidelity to the one whom time has passed can't prevent the ravage of his heritage by the untenable scarlet tempest brought forth from the land of his eastern akin. The illusion of peace, the hoax of defeat has planted the seeds for times of sedition, and men will be seduced and scream in jubilation as darkness and despair covers the entire world.