I see it comrade, in the snow
It huddles near in fright
We strike for in our hearts we know
The efforts of our plight
Together, comrade, storm the bow
Release the crimson fire
The sweat of toils on your brow
It’s time to claim desire
I waved the flag of fathers old
A community in arms
We will have our stories told
As we raze the fields and farms
See the feet, pound together
A collective thought process
See the trudging, through the weather
The tyrants, we arrest
The fist of crimson gods, they ascend
From a grave of bitter frost
They brand us wicked men, pretend
The weaker group, they lost
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