A mist-covered sword was thrown through the air
as a symbol of our victory here.
Clothes of the men were stained with blood,
and it covered the ground as if drowned by a flood.
The corpses of hundreds were illuminated by the moon,
but the proud battleflags were still standing on the dune.
Our captain was looking with a cold and dead gaze,
upon the field of the shadows, upon every man's face.
And the sensation at this place, which we all shared,
was the living mark of what we at this day had dared.
We knew why we slayed, we had our orders,
but conscience should be the thing that would sort us.
A breathe of fresh air could not remove the guilt
and I thought it over: "Is it for this we are build?"
- "We had our orders, therefor they had to die!"
and when hearing those words, our leader started to cry.