The spirit of Prussia will burn in hearts Until the holy flame of Perkuno is burning In the heart of sacred woods Invisible for eyes of simple mortals
The thunder announces the birth of the hero In nightly silence of the sleeping earth And the lightning's brightening the baby's face And his first cry that breaks the darkness.
And fierce wind echoes the baby's cry And thrills the sky, anticipating the events Tears off the leaves from ancient trees, Rejoices the great omen.
The new-born mind as blank paper, Clean, empty and light like the calm surface of water, As the grown sprout tears the air apart, Gathers dust of life on the fresh leaves. And with the long root absorbing dirt From all that are going to rotten near The sprout is hardening, it doesn't want to, But it will wither like those near that couldn't leave.
Born to be Defender of Native Land Born to be rain, giving life Born to be free as a proud bird Flying in the sky Born to be stronger than the sword and the storm Born to be the river's flow Born to be boiling wolf's blood to be Flame of Hope Born to be himself amongst the lost souls
The black hands of storm-clouds are clenching the sun The wind is bringing anxiety, thrilling the ear. Beyond the dark horizon the seed of war is ripening Bringing the smell of death. The warrior will fight for his people, For the rivers and forests of grey gods, For the holy flame of Perkuno
The sunlight is fading... The day is dying away scratching the sky with its last rays The last quiet day before the war The last calm before the storm The ground is trembling already And Prussia stands still awaiting
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Copy to Clipboard: The spirit of Prussia will burn in hearts Until the holy flame of Perkuno is burning In the heart of sacred woods Invisible for eyes of simple mortals
The thunder announces the birth of the hero In nightly silence of the sleeping earth And the lightning's brightening the baby's face And his first cry that breaks the darkness.
And fierce wind echoes the baby's cry And thrills the sky, anticipating the events Tears off the leaves from ancient trees, Rejoices the great omen.
The new-born mind as blank paper, Clean, empty and light like the calm surface of water, As the grown sprout tears the air apart, Gathers dust of life on the fresh leaves. And with the long root absorbing dirt From all that are going to rotten near The sprout is hardening, it doesn't want to, But it will wither like those near that couldn't leave.
Born to be Defender of Native Land Born to be rain, giving life Born to be free as a proud bird Flying in the sky Born to be stronger than the sword and the storm Born to be the river's flow Born to be boiling wolf's blood to be Flame of Hope Born to be himself amongst the lost souls
The black hands of storm-clouds are clenching the sun The wind is bringing anxiety, thrilling the ear. Beyond the dark horizon the seed of war is ripening Bringing the smell of death. The warrior will fight for his people, For the rivers and forests of grey gods, For the holy flame of Perkuno
The sunlight is fading... The day is dying away scratching the sky with its last rays The last quiet day before the war The last calm before the storm The ground is trembling already And Prussia stands still awaiting
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